


California Dreamin'

by lupwned



Series: California Dreamin' [1]
Category: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's 8, Ocean's Eight
Genre: California, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/F, Flirting, Flying, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, Moving, Post-Canon, Post-Movie, Reunions, Slow Burn, Traveling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 34,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupwned/pseuds/lupwned
Summary: “My offer still stands,” Lou whispers, her lips at the shell of Debbie's ear.“California?” Debbie's voice cracks when Lou's hands trace over the silhouette of her dress. There's no skin-on-skin contact but she feels it in every inch of her body. Goosebumps prickle at her arms and up the back of her neck, and if Lou were to mention it, she'd certainly blame the cool night air. But she knows. Of course she knows. “Louise Miller, are you asking me to live in sin with you?”“Yes.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up, kiddos. This is going to be one long, slow-burn piece of garbage.
> 
> While not required reading, this starts shortly after [The Bottle Let Me Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15052382?view_full_work=true). Reading this will help give some context of the days leading up to the Gala, but it's not necessary to understand this.
> 
> With that - enjoy!

On the night of the Met Gala, when the heist is over and the team is high on adrenaline and expensive wine, Debbie stands on the balcony of the loft and admires the beauty of New York City. The silence of jail is deafening, but this feels like home to her – the sounds of people talking and laughing, the low hum of taxis and their incessant honking, the saxophone players and guitarists just trying to make a living on the corner of the street.

She raises her glass to her lips and sips slowly, the cold champagne tickling her throat. The air is distinctly New York – smoky, hot, with the trace scent of hot dogs and falafel and pizza dough. Debbie takes a long, deep breath, loving the way it burns her lungs. She feels alive. She feels invigorated. She feels _free_.

“You did it.”

When Debbie turns, Lou is standing at the entryway with her glass lifted in a pseudo toast. Her face is veiled in shadows from the light behind her, but still, her green suit sparkles, blending in perfectly with the shine of the city. It's a mystery how Lou can manage to look so beautiful and _handsome_ at the same time, and Debbie's practically a puddle when Lou steps forward and closes the space between them.

“ _We_ did it,” Debbie corrects with a wink. With the fingertips of her free hand, she traces the long diamond necklace at Lou's chest. “These look good on you,” she compliments. “ _Really_ good.”

“You're not looking too bad yourself, honey.” Lou cocks her head and smiles. The blonde wig is long gone but Debbie's still wearing her gold and black off-the-shoulder dress, and she's eyeing her like a piece of meat. “So what now?” Lou asks the question that's been on the tip of both of their tongues all night.

Debbie faces the railing, setting her glass down before flattening her palms against the cold metal. “Lots to do still. Gotta get these diamonds out of our possession before we can sell the big stuff.” They've kept mum about the real focus of their heist from most of the team, and the fact that they share such a big secret turns Debbie on just a bit. She bites her lip, then drinks a bit more of her champagne. It might come as a surprise to most of her team members, but she's a bit of a light weight, and her head spins after a few gulps. Or maybe it's because of Lou's breath at the back of her neck, brushing away the mess of brown hair that spills over it.

“My offer still stands,” Lou whispers, her lips at the shell of Debbie's ear.

“California?” Debbie's voice cracks when Lou's hands trace over the silhouette of her dress. There's no skin-on-skin contact but she feels it in every _inch_ of her body. Goosebumps prickle at her arms and up the back of her neck, and if Lou were to mention it, she'd certainly blame the cool night air. But she knows. Of _course_ she knows.

“Yes.”

“Louise Miller, are you asking me to live in sin with you?”

Lou laughs, low and throaty, and oh god, Debbie feels every little vibration of it. “ _Delicious_ sin, if you want to get technical.”

Debbie turns. “I'll think about it,” she hums. But really, she doesn't need to think about it at all. There's some unfinished business here in New York that she needs to focus on, and she wants to visit Danny's grave a few more times, tell him about how everything went (and maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to find out for sure whether he's _really_ in there), but it would probably be better anyway to let Lou make her way west and get settled before they U-Haul all their shit halfway across the country.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

On a random Tuesday in the middle of June, Lou leaves. The team is a blubbering mess as they say their goodbyes, and even though Debbie realizes she'll be joining her in a few months' time – maybe sooner – she's depressed and angry at the thought of being alone, as though Lou's completely abandoning her. And, deep down, she knows that's not true, because _she's_ been the one to push Lou to go first, to get settled, to make a life, but damn it, a part of Debbie had hoped that Lou would argue against that, demand that they start this _together_. Hadn't that been what they'd promised each other when she'd gotten out of jail?

“I'll call when I get to Ohio?”

Debbie knows it's childish, but she can't muster the courage to look at Lou as she joins her at the balcony. She'd tried not to pick up the bad habit after prison, but with a trembling hand and pounding heart, Debbie takes a drag from the cigarette nestled between her index and middle fingers. “Kay.” She sounds like a petulant child, and frankly, Debbie doesn't give two shits.

“Deb, don't be like this. You said-”

“Yeah, I know.” Debbie exhales slowly, the puff of smoke curling around her face and burning her eyes.

“Alright. Love you, toots. Be good.”

Lou disappears back into the loft. A few minutes later, there's a shuffle of a bag and the jingle of keys. Then, she's gone.

All alone, Debbie still lowers her voice before finally responding to her long-gone partner. “Love you too, Lou.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

With no team – and no Lou – the loft is uncomfortably quiet. It's simply too much space for one person. Debbie soon feels as though she's drowning, crushed by the sheer massiveness of it. She sleeps alone, which is _fine_ , because she's used to that, except that she'd always felt safe with Lou down the hall, knowing that she could peek her head in and wake her up, ask her to talk, share a pint of ice cream with her at 3am just because they could.

Debbie looks at the clock on her phone. It's a little after 2am, and insomnia rears its ugly head. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be one of _those_ women – clingy, needy, sending dozens of text messages or demanding a phone call every day. It's easier during the day when she can occupy herself with the task of liquidating their assets, but nights are the worst, and no matter what Debbie does, she eventually finds herself in bed, head in the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and dreaming of Lou.

Lou in her arms. Lou mumbling in her sleep, whimpering in her nightmares. Lou cuddling close and avidly denying ever doing such in the morning.

Lou.

Blurry-eyed, she types out _“I miss you”_ in a text message. Debbie stares at it for awhile, the little blob of text and the blinking cursor practically daring her to press send. Tonight, like every night before it for the last two weeks, she simply can't muster the courage. She taps the backspace button a handful of times before the message clears, then tosses her phone across the room where it lands with a thud.

For the first time since prison, Debbie buries her face in her pillow and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh???? 
> 
> I’m a little less confident about this one, so comment with your thoughts and make the author smile :)


	2. Chapter 2

At 9:30 in the morning, with a cup of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, Debbie's resolve cracks and she decides to finally call. She's awful at starting conversations, but she and Lou are both so stubborn that she's certain they'll be stuck in an endless game of “who takes the lead?” if she doesn't. With a swipe of her thumb, Debbie taps the green FaceTime icon and selects Lou's number.

One ring – no answer.

Two rings – no answer.

By the time the third ring starts, Debbie's feeling a bit dejected. Then the sound stops suddenly and a blur of blonde hair lights up her screen. “Hey.” It's all Debbie can seem to muster in the moment, suddenly speechless at the sight of her partner on the other side of the line.

“Hey Deb,” Lou greets, her voice low and gravelly. “You do realize it's 6:30 in the fucking morning here, right?”

_Shit_. “Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep.”

The video rustles as Lou shifts in bed. Debbie can see her face more clearly now as she sits up against the pillows. There's a streak of old mascara around her eyes and her platinum blonde hair is the epitome of disheveled. Lou's wearing some sort of oversized band t-shirt that hangs loosely over one side of her shoulder, and the flash of skin makes the breath catch in her lungs. “You ok?” Lou asks, brushing the bangs away from her face.

“Oh yeah, I just...” _Missed you_. “Wanted to see how things have been. Haven't really heard from you since you got there.” Debbie breathes slowly, trying to steady the shake in her voice.

Lou rubs the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand and clears her throat. “Things are good. I've got a place. Four bedrooms. Lots of storage. A pool.”

Debbie gets wistful at the thought of Lou in a bikini.

“I found some work.”

Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Work? Lou, you've got 32 million dollars. I think it's safe to say you're set.”

Lou smiles. “It's more of a pet project.”

Debbie waits a few seconds for Lou to elaborate on it. “And?” she adds when the silence continues.

“It's in the starting phases.”

“That's... _cryptic._ ”

Lou laughs, low and seductive, even when she's not trying to be. “I don't want to jinx it too much. There's a lot to do. You know me, Deb, I can't just sit around doing nothing. Busy hands. Restless Leg Syndrome. Whatever you want to call it, I'll go mad if I have to sit and listen to the Hollywood Housewives complaining about how their nannies didn't use _organic_ flour in their kids' cookies for school.”

Debbie play gasps. “How _dare_ they?”

Lou's smile is wide and toothy, glistening white. The veneers their first heist paid for have done her well. “You'll see it when you get here.”

Debbie bites her bottom lip. “I was thinking about that.”

“You? Thinking? That's dangerous.”

“Hush. I'm almost done getting everyone's money together.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.”

“I figured you'd need yours first to get settled.”

Lou nods.

“Everyone else is good to go. Except me. Should be another week or so and then...” She waits for Lou to connect the dots.

“Oh _shit_ , does that mean I've got a roommate again? Rent is $850 a month plus utilities. No loud parties unless I'm invited. There's also a strict no pants rule after 10.”

With that, they laugh together, soft and easy and instinctive. It feels like home, and for the first time in weeks, Debbie doesn't feel quite so lonely. Yes, Lou's still thousands of miles away but there's a closeness in simply seeing her face. Debbie kicks herself for not swallowing her pride days ago and initiating the call. Their playful teasing turns into a comfortable silence, and when Lou eventually speaks again, it's in a softer tone. “It's great to see you, Deb.”

“You too, Lou. You look...” _Amazing_. “Good. You look good.”

Lou's eyes cast down and there's just the tiniest bit of pink at her cheeks, the closest to a blush Debbie thinks she'll ever see on the woman's face. For a minute or so, they simply watch each other through the phone, reveling in the closeness. It doesn't fix anything, but for the duration of the call, Debbie feels as though her best friend is there with her as she's always been, with an arm around her, a soothing caress, a playful kiss at her temple...”I'll let you go back to sleep,” Debbie eventually offers when Lou tries – and fails – to hide a yawn.

“Mmmkay.” Lou cracks her neck. “I'll see you soon, ok? Send me your flight details when you have them?”

“Of course.” Debbie wrings her fingers around the handle of her coffee cup, willing herself to just spit out exactly what she wants to ask. “Would you, uhh...tonight. Before you go to bed. Just...”

Lou's eyes sparkle with a smile. “Yeah, honey.”

Debbie nods to herself. “Bye, Lou.”

“Bye, Deb.”

The phone beeps as the call ends.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Debbie waits up for Lou's text. It's a little after 3am when her phone finally chimes with a picture message and a caption. In it, her signature black jacket is draped over her shoulders, paired with big, gold hoops at her ears and matching chains on her neck. Her lips are blood red – darker than she'd ever really worn in New York, and Debbie briefly wonders what's spurred that change. Her long fingers are curled in the belt loops of her leather pants, which are pulled down just slightly to expose the skin at her hipbone. She looks good. She looks hot. She looks... _happy_.

**Lou, 3:08am:** _Sweet dreams, Jailbird._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Lou up to over there? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out that trying to distribute 32 million dollars into a bank account without any red flags is easier said than done. Debbie can't exactly walk into the PNC Bank on Madison Avenue with a sack full of cash and ask to make a deposit. There are logistics involved that she hadn't exactly planned for in jail, and by the middle of the summer, she's just ready to be over with the whole ordeal and be on her way to California.

She tries to blame it on the unusual heat – over 93 degrees and climbing by 1 in the afternoon – but the truth is, she's feeling incredibly restless alone in New York City. Constance comes to visit every so often, and they get sufficiently drunk enough that it lets her forget about everything (or _everyone_ ) waiting for her on the west coast.

“Do you miss her?” Constance asks, sipping on the cold Corona in her hand.

“No,” Debbie answers. She leans her head back to drink the last sip of her beer.

“You're a smart woman, Debbie, but you're an awful liar.”

On July 17th, when all of her finances are finally in order – the last of the group – Debbie grabs her laptop and buys a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. She briefly contemplates surprising Lou out of the blue, but California is mostly unknown territory to her, and they've been separated long enough that she's not going to take any chances. She grabs her phone and opens her message chain with Lou.

Packing is easier than she'd expected. Perhaps it's because she's so fucking excited to get out of NYC, but Debbie finds little trouble leaving the majority of her belongings behind. She fills one large suitcase with clothes, jewelry, and various pictures of her friends and family that she's amassed over the years; that Lou had been kind enough to not only keep them, but set them up in her room while she was away is not lost on her.

The next morning, after a night of restless sleep, Debbie grabs her bag, switches off the lights in the loft, and hopes to never look back.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It's been years since she's flown, and Debbie suddenly remembers why she loathes it. Between the hordes of tourists who are in desperate need of a shower, to the cramped seat in the back of the plane she'd inadvertently chosen (technology is not one of her strong suits, and she makes a mental note to ask Nine Ball for help next time she travels), she vows to stay put in California for as long as she possibly can. (Or maybe she'll just book a private jet next time, and why she hadn't thought about that in the first place with 32 million dollars at her disposal is beyond her).

It's a little after 10AM local time when her plane lands. The skies are sunny and beautiful, picturesque and welcoming as she peeks out of the window next to her seat. Her bag is one of the first to come through baggage claim. There are tons and tons of people waiting with signs – some being reunited with parents and siblings, others simply waiting for their clients (it _is_ Los Angeles after all) – and Debbie is just about to pull out her phone and ask where the fuck Lou is when she catches sight of a tall woman in a pair of dark leather pants and a bright orange v-neck with a matching suit jacket. Her eyes are shielded with a pair of thick black glasses, but her signature platinum blonde haircut and sharp cheekbones give her away.

Debbie drags her bag behind her and moves closer, her heels clicking against the epoxy coating of the airport floor. Only a few feet away, she finally sees the sign Lou's holding, a name written in sprawling cursive on a piece of white cardboard.

“Robin Hood?” Debbie laughs, raising in an eyebrow.

“Took from the rich, gave to the needy? Describes you to a T.” Lou takes her sunglasses off and eyes Debbie from head to toe, a smile spread across her face as she does. “You look like shit,” she teases before tossing the makeshift sign to the ground to pull Debbie into a crushing hug.

Debbie'd promised herself she wouldn't cry. But when Lou's hands slide over her back and shoulder blades, and her face is buried into the nape of her neck, and her sweet perfume greets her like a warm bed after an exhausting day, Debbie can't help but tear up. It barely lasts a minute, but she doesn't take a second of it for granted, grateful for the closeness she's been craving for months. She rubs her face against the shoulder of Lou's suit jacket to wipe away the tear at the corner of her eye, then pulls away to be face-to-face once more. “You look...tan,” is all Debbie can manage to say.

“Welcome to California,” Lou chuckles. “Are you hungry? We can grab an early lunch on the way home.”

Home. It sounds so strange yet exciting, as Debbie has never really felt a sense of _home_. There have been places she's been comfortable, places she's returned to daily with a bed and a bathroom and a closet, but home? It's something she's never really had before.

Without asking, Lou takes Debbie's suitcase from her hand and carries it beside her. They walk together in comfortable silence, and even though Debbie had expected to be blabbering like a fool, gossiping about the girls in New York and what Lou's been up to in California and what exactly they're going to do now that she's here, she's actually grateful for the moment of quiet.

The glass exit doors open automatically as they approach them, and a line of cars are parked on the street, waiting for various arrivals. They don't travel far before Lou stops in front of a bright red Ferrari. Debbie's never really been one for cars, but it's absolutely stunning, and she's more than a little surprised when Lou pulls a set of keys from her pocket and unlocks it with a click of the tiny remote at the end of the chain.

“I've made a few upgrades here,” Lou explains, reading her mind.

“That is one _significant_ upgrade.” When Lou holds the passenger door open for her, Debbie slides into the seat and admires not just the interior of the car, but the woman beside her in the driver's seat.

Lou pulls her sunglasses back over her eyes and smiles. “Hold on tight, darlin'.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	4. Chapter 4

A lifelong New Yorker, Debbie's always been certain that traffic can be no worse than it is in the heart of Manhattan. Yet she eats her words as they sit in what seems to be an endless sea of cars, honks and shouts and general grievances bouncing through the warm Los Angeles air. Back home, she might have bitched, but in the moment, she can find little to complain about. After all, she's been waiting for months to be here, and even though it isn't exactly how she'd imagined her first few hours in California, sitting beside Lou in a hot sports car is not the _worst_ way to spend a Saturday.

“You get used to it,” Lou assures, sensing Debbie's unease.

Debbie shrugs. “I figured.”

“There's a great cafe a few minutes from the house.”

Debbie nods. “Mkay.” She waits for Lou to elaborate; when she doesn't, she adds, “And then?”

Lou laughs, short and breathy. “And then? Someone sounds antsy. Can't you just appreciate the calm, lavish life?”

“Nothing about your life is ever _calm_ , Lou.”

“Well, I can't argue with that.” Lou looks over and offers a quick wink.

 _God_ , how Debbie's missed this woman.

“Do you still go to bed by 11?” Lou asks with a smirk.

“Depends. Some of us like to actually accomplish things in the morning and not sleep until noon.”

“Well, if Cinderella can manage to stay at the ball past midnight, I'll take you along with me tonight.”

 _That's_ intriguing. It's the kind of fun and spontaneity that's been sorely missing in her life since Lou's cross-country trip. She wants to ask where they're going, and what the hell Lou has been up to, but Debbie has no other plans at this point in her life life than to follow blindly - for once in their lives, to be the _support_ instead of the mastermind.

By some miracle, they eventually arrive at _Copper_ , a sweet little corner cafe that reminds Debbie of many she's been to in New York, but...brighter? Warmer? Friendlier? There's the usual grumpiness of a crowd in any large city, but people seem to genuinely smile at her as they step out of Lou's car and onto the sidewalk, then over to the building's entrance. Or maybe they're not smiling at _her_ , but the captivating vixen by her side. Not that she blames them, because truth be told, she's doing the same, admiring Lou's gorgeously tall figure in her fitted orange suit.

“Hey Lou! The usual?”

It takes a moment for Debbie to pinpoint where the voice comes from through the crowd.

“No, nothing to-go today Jen. Gonna sit down and eat.” Lou slyly points to Debbie, then to one table in the corner. “Thanks anyway, love.”

“Come here a lot?” Debbie asks, feigning interest in the paper menu at her seat.

“I guess,” Lou dismisses her quickly, sensing the impending mood shift.

There's the tiniest pang of jealousy in Debbie's blood at the thought of Lou having an entire routine and group of people surrounding her that she's had no involvement in. She knows it's absolutely ridiculous and controlling – after all, she'd left almost six years ago to essentially do the same thing – but that doesn't make it hurt any less when she thinks of all the time she's missed over the last few months.

While Lou orders a half a bowl of tomato bisque and a grilled cheese, Debbie opts for a summer berry salad. Truthfully, she doesn't even like salad, and even Lou notices the odd choice. “Please tell me you haven't become a vegetarian since I last saw you.”

Debbie scoffs. “If anyone would be, it's _you_ , Miss California.”

“Same old, same old in that department,” Lou insists. She dips the corner of her sandwich into her soup and takes a bite. “How's New York been? How's the team?”

Debbie cares about them. She _really_ does. But the last thing she really wants to talk about are the gaggle of ladies back in NYC. She hides behind a mouthful of lettuce, but Lou's incessant stare doesn't allow her to sneak away from an answer that easily. “They're pretty good. Constance has some YouTube channel. Millions of followers and the endorsements have been flowing in. Daphne's directing and Rose is basically her private dresser, among other things.”

Lou grins. “I knew it.”

Debbie can't help but smile too.

“Tam mentioned something about going to Florida with her kids for the summer?”

Occasionally, they'd gone days – sometimes weeks – without talking once Lou had left for California. Debbie had assumed she'd just been busy settling. But Lou's casual mention of conversations with other team members makes her cheeks grow hot with the thought of no longer being Lou's first choice, first friend to text, first to talk to.

Then again, she'd rarely ever put Lou first, so why should she expect the same?

“Yeah,” Debbie answers casually. “I think she was planning to rent out a floor at the Grand Floridian for awhile. Kids had never been to Disney before so she thought it would be a fun opportunity. With 32 mill, she'll be the only one who can still afford to go there.”

Lou's laugh is vibrating and low. It makes the hair at the back of Debbie's neck stand. Then Lou gathers a spoonful of tomato bisque and brings it to her lips – purrs “open up” before guiding it into her mouth – and if Debbie's entire body wasn't already buzzing, it certainly is now. They've done this before. This is their _thing_. They feed each other and smile at each other and flirt with each other and that's... _that_. It never makes her feel this way.

Except when it does.

When they're finished, Lou tosses a few twenty-dollar bills onto the table and waves at the same woman who'd greeted them earlier before making her way back to where they'd parked her car. The traffic isn't quite as bad this time, but the speed limit is slower, which allows Debbie to take in the many businesses across the strip. There are restaurants and yoga studios and shopping complexes and theaters and just about anything else she can possibly imagine. Stopped at a red light, Debbie notices a series of bars that reminds her of a burning question she's yet to have answered. “So are you going to tell me about this little endeavor of yours?”

Lou smiles. “Funny you should ask.” She nods her head in the direction of a large building at the corner of the street.

Debbie squints. There's a name sprawled on the top of it in thick, block-font letters surrounded in lights that are hard to make out during the day, but will undoubtably sparkle in the dark. As a few cars move further down the intersection and Lou pulls up, Debbie's able to finally get a good look at the name.

 _Blind Spot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm..... :D Any guesses on what Lou’s endeavor is?
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	5. Chapter 5

32 million dollars can buy a hell of a lot. Debbie knows that, understands that life has undoubtably changed for the both of them with so much money at their disposal. When the multi-million dollar colonial comes into view at the end of the drive, Debbie finally understands that when Lou'd mentioned “upgrades”, she hadn't just been referring to her car.

Lou looks over toward the passenger's side and smiles, slipping her sunglasses up to rest on her head. “Well?” she asks, setting the car to park and cutting the engine. “Do you like it?”

“If you thought the loft was a bitch to heat, I'd imagine this place is even worse.”

“Heat? No. _Cool_? You have no idea.” Lou laughs.

As Lou hops out of the driver's seat, Debbie allows herself a moment to take everything in, from the perfect landscaping throughout the property to the stunning facade of the house, a perfect example of classic and contemporary. She hardly considers herself a connoisseur of real estate, but she can appreciate good architecture when she sees it. Lost in her admiration, Debbie doesn't realize Lou's grabbed her bag and made her way to the front door until Lou's low, even voice calls for her, pulling her out of her trance.

“ _Hey_ ,” Lou waves her free hand above her head to get her attention. “Are you just going to take up residence in my car, or are you going to come inside and look around?”

It turns out that Lou has impeccable taste. As stunning as the outside is, it's nothing compared to the inside of the house. From its marble kitchen countertops to the glistening chandelier hanging from the dining room ceiling, every inch can be described as nothing less than luxury. It reminds Debbie of some of the lavish hotels they've snuck their way into over the years. She wonders if, perhaps, that's exactly why Lou's purchased it.

Like the gentlewoman she is, Lou lugs Debbie's suitcase up the flight of stairs and down the hall to where three of the bedrooms live. “Take your pick.”

Debbie peeks her head into one room. There's a king bed situated in the center with a to-die-for cherry-stained wood dresser and matching nightstand. The curtains hanging over the windows are a shade darker than ocean-blue – Lou's favorite color. When she'd arrived, she'd assumed Lou had just paid a decorator. But there's something so specifically _Lou_ about each room, with such personal touches that no decorator could replicate. “Which room is yours?”

“Next door to this one.”

Debbie doesn't hesitate with her answer. “I'll take this one, then.”

For years, they'd always slept side-by-side. Not in the same bed, but a room away. Sometimes, on nights where her mind simply wouldn't quiet enough to sleep, Debbie would listen to the soft sounds trickling from Lou's room – her television (always awful 3am infomercials), her music (the gentle strum of guitar strings and the low hum of an alto singing voice), or the simple sound of Lou's steady snoring when she'd finally doze off.

“Are you sure? The one further down the hall has its own bathroom. You might like that one bet-”

“Nope, this one is good. I can keep a better eye on you here,” Debbie teases.

“Oh, you're gonna regret that.”

Before Debbie has a chance to continue their banter, Lou's cell phone chimes from its place in her left pant pocket. Lou mouths an apology, then steps away to take the call. “Hey.” She leans against the wall with one boot-clad foot pressed against it. “Yeah, she just got here. Everything good?” There's a moment of silence as Lou listens. When Debbie looks at her questioningly, with her head cocked and her eyes narrowed, she waves her hand dismissively and goes back to her conversation. “Great. Well, we'll be around at some point tonight. Talk later?”

“Who was that?” Debbie turns and busies herself with unpacking her suitcase.

“My business partner, AJ.”

 _Business partner_. Although their history is deep and complicated, in the end, they've always been each other's partner. Their friendship has had its strained moments, and the “something more” that's been bubbling just below the surface has always had its influence, but even in their most fractured moments, Debbie's always considered Lou her partner. Not Tammy. Not even Claude. Only Lou.

“ _Oh?”_ The hurt is painfully obvious in her tone. _“_ Someone with 32 mill needs a business partner?”

“It's complicated.”

Lou leaves it at that, and Debbie's not sure whether that's better or worse.

“I'm gonna jump in the pool. You wanna join?”

“Nah,” Debbie answers curtly. “I'm feeling pretty jet-lagged. I think I'm just gonna take a quick nap and recharge. Wake me up in a bit?”

“Will do.” Lou shifts to leave, but stops, hesitating. “Hey Deb?”

“Mmm?” Debbie turns away from her suitcase, finally making eye contact.

“I'm glad you're here,” Lou confesses.

Despite the bit of jealousy trickling through her blood, Debbie smiles. “Me too.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Turns out that Lou is not dependable as an alarm, and Debbie's half-hour nap eventually becomes a five-hour coma. When she finally wakes up – drool plastered across her cheeks and chin – she's so disoriented from sleep that she barely knows what year it is. She rises slowly from the bed, rolling her neck to crack it before combing her fingers through her hair.

Unable to find Lou in her bedroom, Debbie decides to continue her search downstairs. As she rounds the corner at the bottom of the staircase, she's greeted with the sight of Lou sprawled across the large grey sectional in the center of the room. “Welcome back to the living,” Lou greets.

“You were supposed to wake me up.”

“You needed sleep. Did you have a hot date or something?” Lou asks playfully.

Joining her on the couch, Debbie tickles the bottoms of bare feet until Lou squirms. “When does the horse and carriage arrive?”

“We should leave here around 10. Wear something short.”

Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Lou grins. “Because I want you to, that's why.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do not exist solely to do what you want.”

“Says the woman who has made a living roping me into doing the things _she_ wants.”

Working her thumbs along the arch of one of Lou's feet, Debbie swallows the question still lingering on the tip of her tongue. It's just as it's always been, taking care of each other while tiptoeing around the obvious. Debbie's never the first to call. She's never the first to text. She's never the first to make plans (unless it's a job), and she's certainly not going to be the one to bring up...well, _that_.

Lou senses the tension. Just as she sits up, pulling her foot away, Debbie stands from the couch and scurries up the stairs. “Gonna go get ready,” she calls from the top the landing.

Lou blinks up at her, then sighs quietly to herself.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Truth be told, Debbie's a bit out of touch when it comes to this “dating” game. While Lou had never explicitly said their night out would be anything of the sort, Debbie's not going to treat it as anything less. She wears the only dress she'd packed – a short, black number with a very low v-neck and a stunning gold zipper up the back. She's certainly not twenty anymore, but admiring herself in the bathroom mirror, Debbie's feeling more confident than she has in months.

Fastening a pair of gold and diamond earrings, Lou joins Debbie in the bathroom. Debbie senses someone watching her, and sure enough, Lou's eyes drag over her body slowly from behind, silently admiring. Debbie smooths a wrinkle from the front of her dress and smiles coyly. Turning away from the mirror, she steps forward and brushes her lips over the shell of Lou's ear, whispering, “Still know how to show a girl a good time?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

As they drive, the city streets are filled with parked cars and hordes of young men and women bouncing from bar to bar or club to club on a Saturday night. Lou turns down the corner and into the private lot behind _Blind Spot_ with a set of spots labeled “reserved”. In true “Lou” fashion, she opens the door for Debbie and escorts her inside with an arm wrapped securely around her waist.

The scent of booze and perfume and smoke hits Debbie like a train when they step inside. The space immediately reminds her of Lou's bar back in New York, but larger and a bit more lavish. The lights overhead are low, while fluorescent pink, purple and blue lights flash throughout the room to the beat of the bass. “You bought a club,” Debbie yells over the music.

Lou nods.

Contemporary music isn't really her thing, but on instinct, Debbie finds herself swaying to the quick beat. As she dances with Lou a foot away, she eyes the patrons behind and around them – a habit she's picked up in large crowds over the years. There are pairs of women all over the room, laughing, smiling, hands touching, hips rocking, faces close, and-

 _Oh_.

“You bought a _gay_ club.”

“A _lesbian_ club,” Lou corrects. “It had been sorely mismanaged over the years. Used to be known as Hit. I've been helping turn it around. _Blind Spot_. Somewhere to go where you can't be seen. No eyes. No judgement.” Her confidence seems to falter under Debbie's stare, a hint of nervousness in her voice as she waits for Debbie to _say_ something. “What do you think?”

What does she think? Debbie's practically beaming. It's the perfect venture for Lou. For _them_. In the seconds it takes to formulate an answer, a tall, thin woman dressed in a skintight, blood red dress walks toward them. Her black hair is pulled back in a messy updo, and the makeup around her eyes and across her lips is dark and smoky. She's beautiful. She's hot. She's...wedging her way between them?

“Hey,” the woman greets, draping her arm over Lou's shoulders. The pair smile at each other knowingly, in a way that takes Debbie aback.

“Debbie, meet AJ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the years, Debbie has acquired many useful skills. She's an expert at flirting her way into someone's wallet, at coming and going without a trace of having been there, at convincing someone else to take the blame for her misdoings. But standing in the middle of _Blind Spot_ , there's one talent in particular that proves quite useful, and it comes in the form of an incredibly convincing performance that masks the jealousy swirling through everything inch of her. Somehow smiling through gritted teeth, Debbie holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, AJ.”

“The famous Debbie,” AJ hums. “Lou loves to talk about you. I feel as if I've known you all my life too.”

“Hmm.” Debbie stares darkly with pursed lips, then inhales. “I'd like to imagine all good things, but...” They laugh awkwardly together, except for Lou, who looks at Debbie with a mix of heat and embarrassment in her cheeks. Despite AJ's loose, comfortable body language, Lou appears tense, far from the way Debbie'd imagine them to be as an item, and despite her jealousy, she eases just a little. However, her blood still boils when AJ leans close, tucks her face close to Lou's ear and whispers something there before giggling mischievously.

“Welcome to California,” AJ purrs. “Have fun tonight. Behave yourselves.”

Debbie swallows the particularly foul name at the tip of her tongue and instead says goodbye with a plastic smile and a wave of her fingertips. As soon as they are alone again, Lou shrugs sheepishly. It's a strange look for her, always exuding the epitome of confidence. “Can I get you a drink?” she asks, clearly desperate to avoid the topic of conversation buzzing between them.

Debbie doesn't consider herself much of a drinker. She's plagued with hangovers for days afterward, and the taste overall is not something she particularly enjoys. But she's not looking to start an argument or cause conflict her first night in a strange town – her new home, handsy business partner be damned – and so Debbie agrees to a drink, stepping forward to play with a strand of hair framing Lou's face. “Better grab the whole bottle, honey. I think we're gonna need it tonight.”

“Whiskey or vodka?”

“Dealer's choice.”

Lou walks away to grab a bottle from behind the bar. Instead of waiting for her, Debbie makes her way to the dance floor, swaying her hips and nodding her head to the beat of the song blasting from the speakers around them. It has a steady, “fuck-me-slowly” sort of rhythm, something easy to move to without the need for much – if _any_ – coordination. Waiting for Lou, Debbie closes her eyes and loses herself.

Bars are not exactly her scene, and on any other night, she'd turn and crotch-kick anyone who dared touch her, but when hands settle behind her at her waist, Debbie leans back, not a single doubt in the world as to whose fingers trace along the side of her dress. She spins and matches Lou's smile with her own.

“I come bearing whiskey.” Lou hands over a shot glass filled with amber liquid.

Debbie doesn't even need to ask what it is, as the smell of cinnamon hits her full force from more than a foot away. It reminds her of the gum Lou chews incessantly and the hint of spice always on her breath. Without hesitating, Debbie grabs the glass from between Lou's fingers. Their eyes meet in a silent challenge, and without wasting a second more, she leans her head back and takes the shot in one gulp. It burns the entire way down, but she swallows the cough stirring in her lungs, unwilling to look like a lightweight in front of Lou and, more importantly, her “business partner” prowling around in the shadows. “Another.” Debbie's voice is low, a bit hoarse. She holds out her shot glass and waits for Lou to fill it.

Lou's eyes are wide, impressed. She finishes her own shot like the pro she is, then pours another for the both of them. “I know we've been apart for awhile, but the last time I remember you drinking like this, it ended in my holding your hair back in the toilet of a Wendy's at three in the morning.”

“It was an Arby's,” Debbie corrects. “Scared I might outdrink you?”

Lou scoffs. “Don't say things you might regret, love.”

Debbie finishes her second shot and exhales slowly through her nose. “Then shut up and pour.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It turns out that _yes_ , Debbie really is a lightweight and _no_ , drinking six shots of Fireball on a mostly empty stomach is probably not a great idea. By the time 1am rolls around, she is positively hammered, with only Lou's arm around her waist keeping her standing (mostly) upright. Her vision is a little hazy as they walk through the bar together, but Debbie still recognizes AJ on the other side of it, nursing some sort of clear liquid in a cocktail glass.

“I'm gonna go throw this away. Stay here,” Lou instructs, helping Debbie onto the barstool a few seats away from AJ.

“Having fun?”

Something about AJ's voice seems to sober her up a bit. “Yeah, Lou and I always have a good time together.”

“Yes, she really is something, isn't she?” AJ's eyes dart over to where Lou is bent over behind the bar, organizing a series of vodka bottles and swapping out an overflowing trash bag. Her ass is absolutely stunning in her skintight black leather pants, and Debbie doesn't exactly blame AJ for looking, but it takes every bit of self control she has not to reach across the bartop and strangle this unwelcome third wheel.

“You single, AJ?”

AJ laughs awkwardly, wiping at the back of her neck. “Wow, Lou wasn't kidding when she said you were a hardass.”

Debbie smacks her lips and leans forward a bit. “She said that, did she?”

“Look, Lou and I-”

Lou returns with her keys and jacket, which she'd tossed aside a few hours earlier in the heat of the dance floor. “Deb and I are gonna head home. Can you close up tonight?”

“Yeah,” Debbie says slowly, purposefully. “We're going to head home.” She grins. “ _Together_.”

AJ ignores Debbie's little display of...well, whatever exactly she's trying to get across. “Sounds good. I've got tomorrow covered too. Enjoy your weekend.” She licks her lips, then looks over to Debbie. “It was nice meeting you. I hope you end up liking California as much as Lou's come to.”

“I'll be _coming_ to a lot of things,” Debbie answers petulantly.

“Oooook then,” Lou interjects. “Let's go.” Hooking their arms together, she gently tugs Debbie away from the bar toward the exit, unaware of the staring contest still happening between her best friend and business partner. When they step outside, the air surprisingly brisk – at least when compared to the stuffiness of the club – Lou presses Debbie up against the brick wall at the back of the building and tucks her face close, the smell of whiskey heavy on both of their breaths. “What the _fuck_ was that?” she whispers, her voice low but seductive, a bit turned on, not dangerous in the way Debbie's heard when Lou's _really_ angry.

Debbie shrugs, but doesn't hide the smirk slowly creeping across her face. “I don't know what you mean.”

Lou blinks a few times, opening and closing her mouth without making a sound, like she's trying and failing to find exactly the right thing to say to her. “What did you mean in there? That you would-”

Debbie pushes Lou away with the force of her palms. And it's not because she doesn't want her pressed up against her. It's not that she doesn't want Lou to kiss her. It's not that she isn't ready for them to finally do this, to stop playing this back and forth game that has consumed their lives for decades. No, Debbie suddenly shoves Lou so she can rush a few feet into the parking lot and double over far enough away that she doesn't vomit all over Lou's fabulous orange jacket; she just saves that for her favorite pair of Louboutins instead.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	7. Chapter 7

Surrounded by a sea of pillows and blankets, Debbie cracks an eye open. The bed she finds herself in is unfamiliar to her, and as she sits up, taking in the room around her, she immediately regrets having moved at all, her head pounding at the nerve point between her ears and her temples. “Fuck,” she groans, burying her face in her hands. When, she wonders, had the sun become so horrendously bright? She turns away from where it seeps lightly through the window curtains.

From the end table beside the bed, a phone begins to buzz. To the rest of the world, Debbie knows it's quiet but to her, it's horrendously loud, and she fumbles blindly to silence the damned thing. Squinting, she reads the message on the screen, quickly realizing that it is, indeed, _her_ phone.

Setting her phone back on the nightstand, Debbie pops the pills into her mouth and drinks slowly. The ice water is surprisingly refreshing, turning her back into something vaguely resembling a human being. Or at least, she _thinks_ so until she stands up and can feel every ounce of blood rushing through her body. Stumbling over to where Lou has left clothes for her, she shimmies not-so-gracefully out of the oversized tee she's wearing (only allowing herself to think for a moment how that came to be in the first place) and pulls on the shirt and shorts.

As Debbie is about to head downstairs to find Lou, she stops in the doorway, realizing that she had not fallen asleep in her own recently chosen bedroom, but the room _next_ to hers. _Lou's_. Even hungover, she's surprised she hadn't recognized it sooner. If the modern art and various band posters aren't obvious enough, the orange and black Gibson guitar in the corner of the room is a dead giveaway.

The details of the night before are hazy at best. She remembers meeting AJ, and being slightly – ok, _ridiculously_ – jealous of her. And then they'd danced. And drank. And – _shit_.

Debbie runs down the long spiral staircase leading to the living room. After a quick search of the first floor, Lou's nowhere to be found, but a sudden splash gives Debbie an idea of where she might be. She pulls open the sliding glass door adjacent from the kitchen and steps into the backyard, greeted by a gorgeous pool and – more importantly – Lou, in a fine black and gold bikini top and matching board shorts. Debbie watches as she swims across the length of the pool, water rippling and foaming around her as she moves back and forth. After a particularly vigorous lap, Lou comes up for air and notices Debbie standing a few feet away near one of the various lounge chairs situated around the pool.

“Wow, you actually managed to get yourself out of bed,” Lou teases, swimming over to the edge and pulling her arms up over it.

“Barely,” Debbie confesses. “I can't believe I slept that long.”

“I can. I practically had to carry you out of the car last night.”

“And into your bed?” Debbie's tone is flirtatious, but she's genuinely curious.

“I'd left you alone for a hot minute and found you curled up like a cat on my sheets. Moving you was...not an option.”

The words are on the very tip of her tongue, yet Debbie can't find the courage to actually say what she's thinking. Like the synchronized pair they are, though, Lou answers the unspoken question.

“I slept on the couch.”

“There are _how_ many bedrooms, and you decided to sleep on the couch?”

Lou shrugs her shoulders before sinking back into the water. With a little splash, she makes her way over to the staircase and steps out of the pool. Debbie's practically in agony as the water trickles down the length of Lou's body, from the end of her hair down her neck to the curve of her bare back, then down the length of her thigh and legs and calves until it finally seeps into the concrete beneath her feet. The light hits the tiny gold embellishments across the front of her bikini top, and if she hadn't looked stunning before, she's practically sparking beneath the hot California sun.

“Want me to make you something to eat?” Lou offers, grabbing a towel from its place on the patio table and ruffling her hair with it.

The wild, wet, dirty blonde waves drive Debbie just a little mad, desperate to run her fingers through them and pull. Not hard, but just enough to rile Lou up a bit. When she realizes she's being stared at, Debbie straightens and looks Lou in the eye. “Nah, I'm not feeling that hungry.”

“Really?” Lou laughs. “After hurling your guts out, I figured you'd be starved.”

“Yeah I'm...” Debbie wipes the back of her neck. “I'm sorry about that.”

“Shit happens.” Lou wraps the towel around her waist and moves closer. “I knew it was bad news the second you chose Fireball. You are many things, Deb – a drinker is not one of them.” She gently cups Debbie's cheek. “Ease into it next time, will ya?”

“You mean I'm not completely banned from your club?”

“I have connections with the owner. I can pull some strings,” she winks.

Lou is always good to her. Too good to her, in fact. Even when she makes a complete fool of herself, or says hurtful things, or runs off without any explanation, Lou still looks out for her. She takes her home when she's a drunken mess, and tucks her into bed, and offers to make her lunch, and skirts around the fact that they'd definitely had a _moment_ – yes, those details are slowly coming back to her. Lou is always good to her, and what does she do in return? She picks fights with people Lou cares about, and vomits all over her parking lot, and god knows what else she'd subjected Lou to when they'd returned home last night. It's no wonder Lou's chosen someone else to be her...well, _whatever_ now.

“I'm gonna go take a shower.” Debbie steps back toward the sliding door. “Then maybe we can go grab a late lunch somewhere?”

“I thought you weren't hungry?”

“Suddenly starved.”

Debbie's back in the house before she gets the chance to hear Lou's response. The bathroom is just as lavish as the rest of the house, with a stand-in shower and a separate jacuzzi tub and crisp white tiles across the floor. As she strips and waits for the water to warm, Debbie peeks out the bathroom window, which has a clear view of the backside of the house. Lou's now sprawled on a patio chair, her long legs spread across the length of it, with her pair of black sunglasses set over her eyes. Then someone else comes into view – a woman, dressed in a loose red tank and jet black shorts with a matching black sun hat on her head. Debbie can't see her face, but it doesn't take a genius to know who it is, especially when she sits at Lou's feet at the end of the chair and “accidentally” brushes her fingertips along Lou's ankle.

Two can play this game. The jealousy deep in Debbie's bones shifts to something else entirely. Hastily throwing a towel around herself, she rushes back to Lou's room and grabs her cell phone, pulling up two text message chains.

Debbie tries to think of how she can weasel her way into finding an answer to Nine Ball's question.

Ignoring the fact that Daphne's guessed it's Lou without a single hint, Debbie thinks about her suggestion. She's already displayed her own embarrassing amount of jealousy, but she'd never thought about seeing if she could hit the same nerve with Lou...and yet, on the flip side, with Nine Ball's help, she could go the more traditional route...

Suddenly feeling much more sober, Debbie returns to the bathroom and lets her towel fall to the floor, smiling to herself as she steps into the steaming shower, excited to set her new plans in motion. After months in a haze, she's finally found the new heist in her life. It comes in the form of stealing Lou's heart and putting it back where it belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	8. Chapter 8

Every good heist comes with a checklist. Danny had always taught her that, and the point had only been reiterated as she'd concocted her plans to steal the Toussaint.

It's no different with Lou as the center focus. Sprawled lazily in bed after a late lunch – sushi in California is not exactly the California Roll she's come to know and love – Debbie finds a piece of scratch paper and begins her list. It can't be too obvious, of course. Someone could find it – that someone being Lou. She of all people knows how to decipher Debbie's ridiculous steps, so she takes special care to label each in a way that not even Lou will understand.

Debbie had grown distant in the few weeks before she'd left for California, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the team had refused to answer any of her texts for help. But within a matter of hours, each member of the original crew had responded with their contribution to Debbie's latest heist – everyone except Tammy, but she isn't exactly surprised by that, used to the woman's line of communication being spotty at best throughout the course of their friendship.

It had taken her almost a month in jail with the last one. This time, within the span of an hour, Debbie holds a finished list in bright blue ink.

  1. Grover Clevelands

  2. LAFD on Speed Dial

  3. Sea Legs

  4. Earplugs

  5. Green Eyed Monster




**-x-x-x-x-x-**

“Can I take your car?” Debbie asks the next morning with a mouthful of cereal, perched at the granite kitchen counter.

Lou turns from her place at the stove, shifting focus from the egg she's about to flip. “You're delusional if you think I'm going to let you drive my baby.”

“An interesting turn of events from the hippie I know who always said material goods don't matter.”

Lou slides the spatula against the bottom of the pan, and the over-easy egg turns with a sizzle. “Where do you want to go?”

“I need to pick up some clothes. I didn't want to bring very much because it wasn't worth the time and effort. Figured I would just start anew here.” She swirls her spoon around the milk in her bowl, now rainbow-colored from her Fruit Loops. “Gonna be a little strange actually buying something. It's been a long time since I've gone old school.”

“Almost 40 million dollars has made an honest woman out of you, huh?” Lou laughs before assembling her sandwich – an egg, white cheddar cheese and a piece of applewood smoked bacon on wheat toast.

Debbie smiles. “Yeah, something like that.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

As Debbie'd expected, Lou takes the reigns, driving the both of them back into the city for a one-sided shopping spree. True to form, Lou watches from the shadows, standing a few paces behind Debbie as she fingers through the various racks and showcases of designer clothing. Even when they've had almost nothing, Lou's always had a style that transcends any name brands, opting for lesser known pieces that she layers together to complete her look. Debbie's not sure why she expected that to change, but even with the ridiculous amount of money to her name, Lou stands to the side with her thumbs tucked in her belt loops and avoids showing the slightest bit of interest in any of the brightly colored ensembles around them.

“What do you think?” Debbie holds up a deep red blouse with black and white flower print.

“It's very...you,” Lou comments, smirking.

“What does _that_ mean?”

As Lou shrugs, Debbie tosses the shirt back onto the rack. “Well, what would _you_ have me wear?”

“In case you forgot, we have a fashion designer in our circle, and it isn't me.” Lou walks across the room to where a series of fitted women's suits hang, each in various shades of purple. “But if it were up to me, I'd say this-” She picks up a dark violet suit in the middle and holds it out.

“Straight out of the Lou Miller collection,” Debbie remarks. Unsurprisingly, it fits her like a glove. She admires the way it hugs her body in the full length mirror at the wall while Lou watches a few feet away, and Debbie catches her reflection nodding behind her. It's been this way for as long as Debbie can remember, the two of them on the same wavelength with a smile or a nod or a flick of a wrist, yet without a single word.

With a few items draped over her arm – including the suit Lou's chosen for her – Debbie moves to the slacks on the other side of the room and searches for some solid colors to match the bright, patterned shirts she's chosen. She expects Lou to chime in with her usual snark, but she's oddly quiet, and with a subtle turn, Debbie watches Lou out of the corner of her eye, standing at the small jewelry case near the checkout. Lou seems to focus on a particular piece in the middle, though Debbie can't quite make out what exactly from across the room.

“Got your sights set on something?”

Caught, Lou pulls away with a shrug. “Nah.”

Despite their sudden influx of cash, there are remnants of old Lou that still linger. Debbie'd half expected to arrive in California and find Lou asleep in her old car, eating Red Hot candies she'd bought from store at the gas station and playing guitar and not giving two shits about anything or anyone. While Lou's certainly made some upgrades in her life, she still hesitates to buy things for herself, and it's one of the things Debbie's always loved about her. In fact, Debbie wonders if the house and the car were solely Lou's choice, or influenced by her impending arrival...

Satisfied with the clothing she's amassed, Debbie rests the various items on the counter next to the register and waits for the cashier to begin cashing her out. As inconspicuously as she can, Debbie glances over at the nearby jewelry case, trying to determine what Lou had been admiring a second ago. There's a long gold chain of various layered lengths with some abstract pendants that vaguely resemble the fingerboard of a guitar and a matching pick. It isn't her style, but it's most definitely Lou's, and when Debbie's able to peek at the price tag fastened to it (with three 0's at the end), she understands why Lou hesitates to buy it (even if it's ridiculous reasoning, what with the budget of a small country in each of their bank accounts).

“I'll take this as well.” Debbie points, and if Lou's pretended to be disinterested before, she's certainly listening now.

“I don't think so.”

“I can spend my money however I would like to, thank you very much.”

“True,” Lou agrees, “but I won't let you buy anything like this for me-”

“Who says it's for you?”

Lou raises an eyebrow.

“Perhaps I've got a newfound love for expensive gold chains.”

Lou glares with pursed lips. “Right.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

In the evening, just a bit before Lou's set to leave for the club, Debbie bounces down the stairs with her laptop in hand and sinks into the recliner with a contented moan. Lou paces around the house readying herself, and when she stops in the living room to grab the jacket she's left there, Debbie steals her attention for a moment with a wave of her hand. “What's the password to the wifi here?”

“I'm surprised you haven't just asked Nine Ball to reset it for you.”

“Don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind.”

“Toussaint.”

Debbie snorts. “Of _course_ it is.”

Tugging the black leather over her shoulders and arms, Lou grabs her phone from where it charges at the corner of the room and speaks hurriedly. “I should be back sometime between 2 and 3. There are some numbers for pizza or Chinese take out if you get hungry while I'm gone. You'll be ok?”

“Good lord, Lou. I'm not a child.”

“I know. But this is a new place and I...”

Debbie softens, Lou's tone bringing forth a warmth that trickles through her. “Thank you.”

Lou buries her hand into the pocket of her jacket, her keys jingling as she does. She pulls them out and spins the chain around her index finger, a simple gesture that somehow makes her look incredibly badass. Just as she's about to leave, Debbie jumps up from her seat and digs something from her own pocket, cradling it against her palm. “Hey, before you go-” She jogs behind Lou and drapes the gold necklace across her neck and chest. Once she's sure it's securely fastened, Debbie steps forward to get a good look. It looks absolutely gorgeous against the dark black of Lou's jacket and the crisp white of her button up.

“Aha, I knew you were full of shit earlier.” Lou dances her fingers over the pendants at the bottom of the chain. “What's the occasion?”

“No reason. Go show it off and tell me all about it when you get home.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

When Debbie's certain Lou's gone – watching out the front window as Lou's car slowly drives down the driveway and onto the street – she darts around the house frantically searching for Lou's Macbook to help give Nine Ball the answers she needs. Debbie eventually finds it tossed amongst a pile of folders and notebooks, and she thanks whatever higher power there might be when she finds that Lou's account is not password protected.

As she waits for Lou's desktop to fully load, Debbie pulls out the piece of scratch paper she's been carrying around in her back pocket. With a red pen she finds among Lou's office supplies, she crosses off the first item on her list.

~~Grover Clevelands~~

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_**Yesterday** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! The heist begins!
> 
> The first person to correctly guess what each item on the list represents - and who suggested each - gets a Debbie x Lou prompt fic written of their choosing ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Debbie wakes suddenly to the sound of a guitar. It isn't particularly loud, but it's familiar enough that she isn't exactly surprised or scared by it, more lulled by it and the woman playing it. After quickly checking her phone on the nightstand – 3:14am – she rubs her eyes, straightens her sleep-mussed pajamas and tiptoes down the hall to find the source of the music.

Debbie peeks into Lou's room, spying from the doorway. Lou sits with her legs crossed in the middle of her bed, the guitar perched in her lap. Her eyes are closed and focused on the music, and her fingers slide effortlessly along the strings. The blouse and leather jacket she'd worn to the club have been swapped for a loose white t-shirt that hangs over one shoulder and a pair of black sleep shorts. Lou's fresh faced with her hair pulled back in a small, messy ponytail, but the gold chain from before still dangles from her neck, the pendants swaying back and forth against her chest with the gentle movement of her upper body as she plays.

Throughout the course of their lives, Lou's music has always been a constant. They'd spent many hours together in hotel rooms, Debbie watching with hearts in her eyes. After particularly grueling days, or moments of accomplishment and excitement, she could always count on Lou to set the mood with a flick of her wrist and fingers. More than six years of silence reminds Debbie just how much she's missed it, and yet she feels strangely voyeuristic standing in the doorway, like she's doing something she's not supposed to. Perhaps the Claude Becker business had stripped her of the right to listen. She certainly wouldn't blame Lou for turning her away. Yet, when Lou eventually opens her eyes and looks up, there's no anger or even surprise on her face. She smiles warmly and beckons Debbie into her room with a wave of her hand. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

Debbie shrugs. “It's fine.” She lays tentatively beside Lou. “How's the club?” Smiling coyly, she adds, “How's AJ?”

“It was fine.” Lou glances over out of the corner of her eye at Debbie before beginning to strum softly. “AJ's fine. Liked the necklace.”

“Oh she did? And who did you tell her bought it for you?”

Lou's eyes twinkle playfully. “A pretty lady.”

“Awww, you think I'm pretty?” Debbie bats her eyelashes.

“Eh, you clean up nicely every now and then.”

Debbie rolls onto her back and scoots closer, subtly nuzzling against Lou's leg. After awhile, the music works as a lullaby; she finds her eyelids and body growing heavy, and knowing there is little use in fighting it, she lets her eyes close and focuses on Lou in her dreamlike state, every note bringing her back to various moments throughout the course of their lives together. Just as she's on the brink of fully falling asleep, Debbie no longer hears the sound of Lou's guitar, but the feeling of those long fingers stroking through her hair lulls in a different way.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It takes nearly 3 days for Debbie to fully prepare for the next item on her list. Without a car (or any other means of steady transportation), gathering supplies is easier said than done. Instead, she waits for Lou to leave each night before calling an Uber to bring her into the city, making sure to get back home before Lou does. There's a 24-hour organic grocery store that Debbie begins to frequent (are there any other type of grocery stores in Los Angeles? Debbie guesses not), but she has to be sneaky about it, knowing that a huge influx of groceries in the fridge and pantry will tip Lou off.

Debbie doesn't cook. Like Charlie Brown on Thanksgiving, she's barely competent enough to make toast without burning it. Lou's always fed her well, made sure she'd had at least one good meal before bed, even when she'd been too busy to remember it herself. There were many things in prison that made her miss Lou, and food had been a particularly big one. But their lives are different now, and Lou has cared for her long enough. Now, Debbie decides to turn the tables, preparing a homemade romantic dinner for two. If only she knew how to make more than microwavable soup.

“Did you buy an _eggplant_?” Lou questions, holding the purple vegetable in her hand after pulling it from the refrigerator. She'd gone inside it to get creamer for her morning coffee, and Debbie – exhausted after getting home late the night before with the final batch of ingredients – had clearly not done a well enough job of hiding it. Shoveling several mouthfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into her face, Debbie mumbles an excuse of an answer that Lou clearly does not understand, looking at her with confusion written all over her face. “You know what?” Lou carefully places the eggplant back into the vegetable crisper and steps away. “I don't think I want to know.”

“Do you have to go in tonight?” Debbie asks once she's cleaned her bowl of all her cereal and milk.

“I need to go in a bit before dinner to sign for a delivery, but then AJ's got the night shift tonight.” Lou sips her coffee. “Why, did you want to do something?”

“Nothing special. Maybe we'll figure something out when you get home?”

Lou salutes with two fingers.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It takes a lot to make Debbie cry. Staying cool and collected is an important part of the job. But she can only handle so many disasters before even her stone-cold-bitch facade cracks.

Turns out, homemade eggplant parmesan is not really a beginner's meal. It starts off well. She boils the water and only lets it spill over twice. Debbie even uses a professional knife without slicing her finger open. With the eggplant in slices and the water about ready for the box of whole grain angel hair pasta she'd purchased, she's feeling surprisingly confident about the meal. The real disaster, however, comes in the form of having to bread and pan fry the eggplant before sticking them in the oven. The breading is soppy, dipping each piece in far too much egg. She leaves the oil on the stove too long and it's blazing hot when she finally goes to fry the eggplant, burning the hell out of her skin – the oil splattering everywhere as she drops the first cut in – and completely ruining the eggplant in the process.

Somewhere in-between, she drops the pasta into the water and, consequently, completely forgets about it. Debbie doesn't know that angel hair pasta only takes two minutes to cook. Fifteen minutes later, when she finally checks on it again amidst the frying disaster, she realizes that she no longer has noodles, but a big glob of stringy gluten.

There's no saving it. Debbie's not delusional. She bites her lower lip to hold back tears as she frantically tries to find some alternative with the remaining ingredients. There's a bag of lettuce and croutons she'd planned for a side salad, but maybe it's sufficient enough until they figure out somewhere to go. A fancy dinner in the city isn't exactly as romantic as something home cooked, but it's better than the disaster she's concocted for herself. Debbie tosses the ruined meal into the garbage and begins fastening two salads, shredding a bit of the parmesan she'd intended for the eggplant to sprinkle on the top. It's not particularly impressive, but it's the thought that counts, and just as Debbie is about to carry the two bowls into the dining area, Lou returns home.

And yet, by the sound of the voices laughing uproariously together from the front doorway, Lou is not alone. “Hey Deb,” she greets. “What do you ha-”

“Nothing.” Debbie rushes back into the kitchen and tosses the salads aside. Because if there's anything worse than completely ruining a romantic meal, it's completely ruining a romantic meal in front of the very woman she's trying to pull Lou away from.

“I thought you said it would be ok?” AJ whispers from the other room, though Debbie still hears it from her place in the kitchen. “Did you two have plans?”

“Might go do something later,” Lou answers honestly, “but I didn't-”

Debbie wipes the tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand. She shifts and inhales slowly, running her fingers beneath her eyes to clear up any of the smudged mascara that may be there. When her breathing steadies and her hands stop shaking, Debbie plasters on a fake smile and joins Lou and AJ in the dining room.

“Hi AJ. You hungry?”

Lou looks at her questioningly. “I thought we were gonna-”

“You have to work tonight, right?” Debbie asks, ignoring Lou. “Why don't you and Lou grab a bite to eat?”

“Do you want to come with us?” Lou asks, subtly pleading. “We came back thinking-”

“I have some stuff I have to do here. You two enjoy, ok?”

AJ thanks her, and Lou doesn't argue, even though there's suspicion written all over her face. As soon as she's alone again, Debbie disappears back into the kitchen. This time, as she scrubs the mess of burnt pots and pans, she lets herself cry out her frustrations, and vows to only stick to Chinese takeout moving forward.

Angrily, with wet, soapy hands, she pulls out her list and draws a thick line through the next item on it.

~~LAFD on Speed Dial.~~

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a totally hellish week. Comments would make the author super super smile (and inspire more!).


	10. Chapter 10

Once the kitchen is clean and all evidence of her cooking disaster has been destroyed, Debbie grabs her white earbuds from her purse and plugs them into the jack on her iPhone. In jail, she'd grown to love classical music, exhausting the entire New York City Prison System's collection of Beethoven, Chopin and Tchaikovsky. It had started as a way to distract herself, choosing the least offensive of the genres available to her to make the days go by faster, but after awhile, after hours of gorgeous compositions, Debbie'd actually come to enjoy them.

One night, after the Met heist, Debbie'd pulled Nine Ball aside, almost embarrassed, and asked if she'd help her load a playlist of concertos onto her phone. Much to her surprise, Nine Ball had been more than willing to help, never once commenting on Debbie's choice of music. During particularly stressful times over the summer months, Debbie'd relied on the classical music to calm and steady her, to ground her to reality when the rest of the world seemed to be crashing down. And now, while she waits for Lou to return home from her dinner date with AJ, Debbie curls up on one side of the sofa with her eyes closed and focuses on each note and instrument, letting her anger and jealousy (temporarily) fade away.

Twenty minutes into Mozart's Jupiter Symphony, a pair of hands settle on her shoulders. She knows exactly who it is, and while she'd normally greet Lou excitedly, or at least with a playfully snarky welcome, Debbie's still feeling a bit salty about the dinner date Lou's not even aware was ruined. Debbie focuses on the bright screen of her iPhone, fingering lazily through her playlist until Lou tugs one of the earbuds out of her ear.

“Wild night?”

Debbie shrugs, pretending to ignore Lou and the way she's standing behind her. She barely touches her, the tips of her fingers tracing featherlight along her shoulders, but the sheer closeness of her makes Debbie's skin hot.

“I brought you back a hummus plate. Did you eat?”

“No,” Debbie answers, and it isn't a _total_ lie. She'd angrily wolfed down her salad, but she wouldn't exactly consider it a _full_ meal. Truth be told, she'd kill for some good pita bread and shawarma. She's irritated, and she certainly isn't going to completely let Lou off the hook for _once again_ bringing AJ where she doesn't belong, but Debbie's also starving and decides to let her stomach take charge. Leaning her head back against the armrest of the couch, she finds Lou looking down at her with a smile, her uneven blonde bangs falling across her eyes. “Did you get garlic dip?”

Lou snorts. “Of course.”

As the music swells and blares from Debbie's headphones, Lou tilts her head. “Are you listening to _opera_?”

It's a close enough guess, and Debbie doesn't feel like arguing – not after the hellish night she's had. “And if I am?”

Lou could tease her for it. It would be easy. But she softens instead, following her to the table as she begins to take out the various cardboard containers of food from their brown paper package. “You're still full of surprises after all these years.”

“And you are as predictable as they come,” Debbie responds with a mouthful of chicken.

“ _Ouch,_ ” Lou hisses. “Ok, I guess I deserved that.”

Debbie shoves a large forkful into her mouth and smiles at Lou with her mouth closed, cheeks puffed and full of delicious Mediterranean food. They fall into comfortable silence as she enjoys her late dinner, and Lou simply watches from the chair beside her, quiet, contemplative, adoring. It might make someone else feel uncomfortable, but it's different with _them_ , having followed the same routine for decades. Even after five years in jail, they'd immediately fallen back into their old routine as though only minutes had passed.

“Take a walk with me?”

Debbie swallows the last bite of pita bread. “Where?”

“The beach?”

“Sure. I'd like that.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Debbie can't remember the last time she's walked barefoot in the sand. Pictures don't do the California coast justice as they travel along the beach together, and as the sun sets on the waterfront, her foul mood fades away at the sight of the beautiful oranges, reds, and yellows across the sky. “A girl could certainly get used to a view like that,” Debbie comments, starry-eyed.

“It really is beautiful, isn't it?” Lou slows and joins Debbie where the waves trickle against the sand and over bare, maroon-painted toes. “I would say you get used to it but...” She buries her hands into her back pockets and sighs. “You don't. And when you do, that's the cue to get the hell out of here for awhile and only come back when you can actually appreciate it again.”

“Wow, I've barely been here for a week and you're already talking about packing up and leaving.” Debbie knows she's joking, but there's a tiny bit of hurt in the tone of her voice.

“Nah, I more than anyone can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

The world slows around them. The ocean wind wisps through Debbie's long hair, blowing it in gentle waves behind her. As Lou watches her, eyes bluer than the ocean beside them, Debbie crosses her arms over her chest and shivers. She tries to blame it on the sudden rush of water at her ankles, or the way the sand grows colder the deeper she digs her bare feet into it, but her shiver stems from a far different place.

Without a word, Lou pulls the jacket from her own shoulders and places it over Debbie's. Any other time, she'd argue with Lou, but there's something quiet and intimate about this that makes Debbie realize it is not the time for jokes or snark. It reminds her of their moment at the pier before the heist, when Lou had run to her and begged, cheeks pink and tears teetering on the edge. Except the tables have turned, and all Debbie wants to do is take Lou by the shoulders and shake her, scream that she's here, right _here_ , and how on Earth could she want anyone else when she's willing to make her whole life about her until death do them part. Debbie takes a slow breath to steady herself, the smell of saltwater filling her lungs and mouth.

It's Lou who eventually breaks the silence. “I love New York, but nothing compares to this, does it?” She points to the ocean, illuminated by the moon that has slowly crept up higher into the sky, the stars reflecting against the water like the diamonds that landed them here in the first place. “Sometimes on my nights off, I just like to sit here and listen. Hours will go by and yet it feels like seconds. The daytime is great for sunbathing and swimming and surfing, but there's something about the shore at night.” Lou lights up as she speaks. “I can't explain it. It's so quiet that you can hear things you'd never pick up otherwise. The water. The wind. All the sealife. Much different than the sound of car horns and drunk morons vomiting outside of my bar.”

“Hey now, _I_ was that drunk moron-”

“Oh _right_.” Lou sticks out her tongue playfully and tickles Debbie's side.

They laugh together, soft and breathy. Eventually, when they quiet, falling back into an awkward silence, it's Debbie who steps forward to lessen the space between them, taking a sharp intake of breath as though she's about to confess something. But it's Lou who reaches out with the first physical contact, a gentle hand stroking along Debbie's cold cheek. Her thumb inches lower to swipe along Debbie's lips, and it's mind-numbing how the softest touch can cause the most intense reaction. Debbie feels as though every nerve in her body is filled with jolts of electricity, sparked by the caress of Lou's fingers at her mouth.

She's certain Lou's going to kiss her. It wouldn't be the first time, of course, but it would be the confirmation Debbie's been desperate for since she first landed in Los Angeles days ago. Lou's eyes shift to focus on her lips, and just as Debbie's ready to close her eyes and lean in, more than ready for this, Lou takes a small step back – but not before taking Debbie's hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging her further along the beach. “Keep walking with me?”

Lou never has to ask. Debbie will follow, just as she'd followed her here, and just as she'll inevitably follow her to the next destination. Even if she's a perpetual third wheel, she can't ever imagine a world or existence without Lou beside her. AJ can pry her away over her cold, dead body.

“Don't make any plans tomorrow, ok?” Debbie pleads. “No club. No errands. No dinners. No...” She doesn't finish. Doesn't say her name. But Lou nods, the point clear. “Just us, ok? Like old times?”

Lou runs her index finger along Debbie's jaw, then tucks it under her chin. “Of course. All you had to do is ask.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *smashes their faces together* KISS, DAMMIT!
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	11. Chapter 11

Contrary to what others may think, Lou is the early riser between the two. Debbie doesn't know how she does it, getting home around 2am most nights only to be back up by 6:30am, but no matter how early Debbie sets her alarm, Lou always has her beat with a full pot of coffee waiting for her, her mug washed and clean, and her favorite creamer waiting there to be poured. Debbie's always vowed to steer clear of domesticity in her life, but if this is even a taste of what it could be like with Lou...

Smiling into her coffee mug before taking her first sip, Debbie searches for Lou, unsurprised to find her lounging on the balcony with her own cup in one hand and iPhone in the other. The sun's begun to rise on the shore, and while it's a breathtakingly beautiful sight, Debbie finds herself more focused on Lou, dressed in a long black tank top and a pair of skin-tight white pants; only Lou would look this simultaneously relaxed and put together so early in the morning on her day off.

From the doorway, Debbie can see Lou's thumb slide back and forth over the message keyboard on her screen. Debbie hates snooping, hates invading Lou's personal space. She can't control herself, though – not when there is so much at stake, and an annoyingly invasive business partner at seemingly every turn. Playing it cool, Debbie steps onto the balcony and sinks into the chair beside Lou. “Mornin'.”

When she realizes Debbie's there, Lou buries her phone into her pants pocket and picks up her mug with two hands. “Hey,” she responds before taking a long, slow sip of her own coffee. “Sleep well?”

“Mmmhm.” Debbie waits a few seconds, then, “Who ya texting?”

“My prison girlfriend,” Lou answers without missing a beat. “She can only steal a phone away between the hours of 5 and 7 so that's all the time we've got.”

“How romantic.” Debbie rolls her eyes. “And here I thought I was the only felon in your life.”

Lou shifts, now gripping her coffee cup with one hand, and reaches forward to stroke a few strands of Debbie's hair. “Guess I have a type.”

Debbie hides her blush in her mug and momentarily forgets how to swallow like a normal human being, the hot coffee trickling down the wrong pipe. She's a sputtering mess, coughing up the scalding liquid until she can finally manage to breathe properly again. Out of the corner of her eye, Lou's looking over at her with concern, a palm flat on her back. Debbie lets out a few smaller coughs and swats Lou away with a wave of her hand. “I'm fine,” she chokes, her voice shaky.

“If you're going to try to keel over and die to get out of this date with me, you can knock it the fuck off,” Lou teases.

Debbie's voice is a uneven, but true to form, she still manages to reply with her own snark. “Damn, I guess I have my work cut out with you, don't I?”

“Always.” Lou leans back in her seat and spreads her legs a little further, getting comfortable again. “So where are we going?”

This is Debbie's favorite part of the game. Even when Lou tries to act disinterested, there is always the moment where she catches whiff of the plan and wants to hear the details, wants to pretend she isn't already onboard. Unsurprisingly, Debbie loves being in control, loves being the piece of meat that Lou drools over. With a satisfied smile, she stands from her seat and moves to the doorway. Debbie looks at Lou over her shoulder. “Wear your bathing suit under something.”

“That's all you're gonna give me?”

Debbie bites back her initial response. There is so much she wants to give Lou, on so many levels, in so many ways. “Meet me on the beach at 11. Don't be late.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Despite her cool, confidence facade, Debbie's an absolute mess as she waits for Lou. It had taken her over an hour to find the perfect outfit to wear, and even longer to choose which bathing suit to go with it. She eventually decides on a deep red bikini beneath her loose white and yellow sundress. Her casual beachwear will likely never top Lou's inevitably elaborate outfit, but she feels comfortable and confident. From the small purse that's wrapped around her neck and shoulder, Debbie grabs her tube of light-pink lipgloss and touches up her lips; it's one of the products she'd stolen when she'd first left jail, which inevitably reminds her of Lou, which inevitably makes her smile like an idiot as she stands alone in the middle of the beach.

“Well look at you, beach bum.”

Debbie turns toward the source of the voice, finding Lou standing behind her in a pair of white shorts and a loose emerald green top. The gold chain she'd gifted her days before hangs from her neck, the bottom tucked securely beneath her shirt. Brown sandals at her feet lace up the side of her ankles to her calves, and Debbie is thankful for the sunglasses hiding her own eyes, which are embarrassingly glued to the long, bare legs in front of her. Yet, somehow Lou can read right through her with a look that screams, “I know you want me.”

The California heat is oppressive, almost 90 degrees before noon, and it seems as if half the population of Los Angeles has decided to spend the day at the beach. But the years they've spent in New York City have done them well, and they walk effortlessly through the crowds together, side-by-side, occasionally hand-in-hand.

The docks are not particularly far from the house, but it still takes them a good half hour to navigate down the beach, arriving slightly later than Debbie had originally planned. She's surprised and a bit confused when they approach the docks to find not the stunning, private trawler or cabin cruiser Rose had alluded to, but a tiny, decrepit fishing boat that looks like it would fall apart with the slightest breeze, let alone two grown women and whoever the hell will be captaining it. She tries not to let the disappointment show on her face, but Lou's expression is enough for the both of them, standing at the furthest end of the dock away from the water.

“Um, Deb...” Lou scratches the back of her head. “I'm not sure what you've got planned here, but I can front you some cash if you feel the need to have to fish for your food.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Debbie frowns. “This was...not exactly what I had in mind, but we'll go with it, right?”

Lou shakes her head. “ _Hell no_. I've seen Titanic. If a boat like that one can sink, there's no way in hell that masterpiece over there will get us more than a few feet into the water before we're shark bait.”

“Well, you can swim, can't you?”

“Pretty certain many of the people on the Titanic could swim, too, and yet...”

In all their time together – on planes and trains and motorcycles, and in more cars than she can count – they've never actually spent any time on a boat. Lou's playfulness is her signature style, yet there's something else on her face and in her eyes that Debbie can read without a word. She'd never considered that Lou might be afraid of them, or get seasick, or whatever else keeps her grounded at the other side of the docks.

Debbie makes a mental note to wring Rose's neck the next time she sees her.

She reaches out for Lou and gently takes her hand. “If I promise to stand next to you the whole time, will you come with me?” Debbie asks, pulling Lou a few inches further out on the dock.

“If I die out there, I'm going to come back and haunt you. You know that, right?”

Debbie laughs. “My plan all along, hun.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

She puts on a strong face for Lou's sake, but the reality is that as soon as the boat takes off, Debbie is absolutely terrified. The engine sputters and grunts as they move over even the smallest of waves, and as the boat rocks with the water, Lou squeezes her hand for dear life, cursing under her breath. But eventually, as the time passes, they find their sea legs, and truth be told, Debbie actually enjoys having Lou glued to her, body pressed close and hands clasped with hers. Somehow, she manages to convince Lou to let go of her long enough to slip behind her, leading her hands to the edge of the boat.

“Will you teach me to surf sometime?” Debbie asks, trying to distract Lou from her fear. She nuzzles her face against the back of her shoulder, which Lou instinctively leans back into.

“If we survive this, sure.”

“I didn't know you were afraid of boats,” Debbie apologizes. “Had I known, I wouldn't have-”

“Not afraid of boats. Afraid of boats like _this_ ,” Lou corrects.

“It's not so bad, right?” Debbie brushes her lips featherlight across the back of Lou's neck, just a brief moment of touch.

Lou breathes slowly and closes her eyes. “No, Deb. This isn't so bad after all.”

“You know I'll always be here, right? When you're afraid?”

Lou turns and meets Debbie's gaze. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! :) You all are amazing - thanks so much to everyone who has commented so far! I am trying to update this regularly, and your comments greatly inspire this to continue, so leave a comment below with your thoughts!


	12. Chapter 12

Rose's disastrous boat choice ends up (surprisingly) working in Debbie's favor. Terrified that they'll sink at any moment, Lou's practically glued to her side for the entire duration of their trip, which Debbie can't deny enjoying _just_ a little bit. The lunch she'd coordinated isn't there – which hardly comes as a shock after seeing the disaster of a vessel – but there _is_ a bottle of champagne chilling in a beer cooler, and after an hour of watching the waves (or Lou, in Debbie's case, which is an even more beautiful sight), she grabs it, pops the cork and pours each of them a glass.

“What are we celebrating?” Lou asks, holding the drink tentatively.

“Do we have to celebrate to drink champagne?”

Lou snorts. “That's the typical occasion for it.”

“What about mimosas?” Debbie challenges. “What are they celebrating?”

“My ability to get drunk at 9am off delicious, delicious orange juice.”

Like so many times before, they laugh together, short and low and comfortable. Just as Debbie is about to sip along the edge of her glass, Lou stops her with a hand at her wrist. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“We never got to properly celebrate the... _diamonds_.” Lou is careful not to speak too freely. The boat engine is deafening and their captain is far away from them, probably asleep at the proverbial wheel, yet it's the moments they least expect any recourse that have come to haunt them, an lesson they've learned over the years. “Regardless of how it came to be in the first place, I know you put a lot of thought and planning into it. I have to admit that I wasn't sure you could pull it off, but...” She offers a crooked smile. “You did really good, Deb.”

“Without you, it would have never come together.”

Lou rolls her eyes. “I'm sure you could have convinced Tammy or Amita on your own to-”

“No,” Debbie insists firmly. “It had to be you. From the very beginning. Every step of the way. If you'd have said no, that would have been the end of it.”

“Liar.”

“No. I would have just bothered the hell out of you until you finally agreed. But I'm serious, Lou. So while you're thanking and toasting me, you should be thanking yourself, because none of it would have come together without you at the forefront with me.” Seated across from her, only a foot or so away, Lou's playful expression has shifted into something a bit more somber, teary eyed at Debbie's unusual confession and revelation. They don't talk feelings very often, but Debbie's learned that Lou has heartstrings that can be easily pulled, and she's not surprised when Lou eventually looks away toward the water and hastily wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.

Debbie isn't far from Lou, but she somehow manages to move closer, shifting until she's sitting right beside her, right leg pressed against her left. It pulls Lou's focus away from the ocean, or rather, to a _different_ Ocean. Debbie lifts her glass. “To us,” she offers, admiring the subtle lines at the corner of Lou's eyes and mouth as she lights up.

“To _us_.”

Debbie sips her champagne slowly, while Lou practically downs her whole glass in one quick gulp. It's either an attempt to numb her nerves about the decrepit boat, or summon some courage to confront the growing tension since she's arrived in California, or perhaps a little bit of both. Debbie waits patiently and quietly, watching Lou's telltale nervous habits as she cracks her knuckles and swipes the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. The wind blows Lou's hair back behind her and shifts the neckline of her top, revealing one strap of the black and gold bikini top she wears underneath. More than that, Debbie fixates on the flash of skin at Lou's shoulder, her collarbone sharp and prominent against her sun-kissed skin and dark swimsuit.

The boat lurches forward, then comes to a sudden halt. Lost in their own little world, they hadn't even noticed their return to the dock. Lou is the first to stand, wobbling for her first few steps on unsteady sea legs. Of course, Debbie's there to guide her, but not without a jab of her own. “What would AJ think if she knew _Lou Miller_ was drunk off her ass from _one_ glass of champagne?”

“I'd be in good company, my little vomit comet.”

Debbie tries to act offended with a gasp, but it doesn't last long. The second their feet hit the sand and the boat disappears behind them, she hides her face in her hands and howls, the kind of laugh that feels like a workout, abs tender and sore by the end of it.

“You are _losing_ it, honey,” Lou teases, but the laughter is contagious. They both descend into a fit of giggles, gasping for breath and barely able to stand upright a few minutes later.

**-x-x-x-x-**

They spend the rest of the day together at home, swimming and lounging and simply enjoying each other's company. They don't talk much, but Debbie's so attention starved that just having Lou beside her is enough to keep a smile on her face for hours. After dinner, Lou disappears into her room to take a quick nap before heading into the club, and Debbie uses the time to update her list and move forward with the next step. Rose's contribution had been such an unexpected success that Debbie feels completely confident the remaining two items will go off without a hitch.

Opening up the gmail account she'd created when she'd first gotten out of jail, Debbie reviews the email that Nine Ball had sent over a few days ago. Having been preoccupied with the details of the boat – which had ultimately blown up in her face, albeit in a _good_ way – she hadn't really had the opportunity to thoroughly read through it. She double clicks and reads through the bulleted list of artists that Nine Ball has managed to hack off Lou's playlist.

  1. Stevie Nicks




That one is _hardly_ a surprise.

  1. Abba




That one is...a _bit_ more interesting.

  1. Lady Gaga




That one is certainly unexpected.

The rest of the list is filled with indie bands, mostly small and unknown. When she reaches the end of the email, she finds another message in the chain, received earlier this morning from Nine Ball's address:

“ _She's also had an interesting Spotify history overnight. Any ideas?_

  * _Wagner_
  * _Chopin_
  * _Tchaikovsky_
  * _Yo-Yo Ma_
  * _Maria Callas_



_xo – 9”_

Debbie reads the email over several times. It can hardly be a coincidence, and just the thought of Lou searching for – and listening to – the music she loves makes her feel warm and dizzy. Debbie's hands itch to touch Lou again, pull her into a crushing hug, an aching embrace. She tosses her computer onto the other side of the bed and rushes into Lou's room without much of a plan, trusting her instinct.

The universe looks out for her, though, helping her refrain from making a total fool of herself when she finds the room empty. Lou's laptop, however, sits open in the middle of her desk. The screen hasn't gone to sleep yet, and Debbie guesses that Lou's about to return any second, but she's never shied away from a challenge, especially once with a time crunch. Debbie moves over to the Macbook and scrolls through the webpage that's pulled up – a listing for the Los Angeles Philharmonic and their upcoming season.

“Whatcha doing?” Lou asks from the doorway, drying her wet hair with a purple bath towel. Her face is fresh and her skin is a bit red from the heat of the shower, and Lou looks absolutely stunning, making it almost impossible for Debbie's brain cells to work hard enough to formulate a believable lie.

“I was just coming in here to...uh...ask if you were going to be home late tonight.”

Lou raises an eyebrow. “I'll be home around my normal time. Why?”

Debbie shrugs. “Just...uh. Curious.”

Lou looks at her suspiciously with pursed lips. “Right.”

Trying to avoid digging herself into a deeper hole, Debbie slinks to the doorway, stopping only when Lou softly calls her name.

“Hey Deb?”

“Mmmyeah?”

“I was wondering if you'd like to go to a concert with me next week?”

Debbie plays dumb. “Who would we be seeing?”

“It's a surprise.”

“I don't like surprises,” Debbie hums.

“Bullshit.”

Throughout the course of their lives together, Lou has surprised her on many occasions. She's surprised her with birthday celebrations, and home cooked dinners, and soft serenades with her guitar, and a gentle hand to hold, and a shoulder to cry on when everyone else had abandoned her. Just when Debbie thinks she's got Lou figured out, she's always one step ahead of her with the next surprise. She likes to pretend she's the ringleader, the mastermind, but it's Lou – it's all Lou. “I'd love to. Anything special I should wear?”

“Something sexy.”

“I'm _always_ sexy,” she retorts, wrinkling her nose before disappearing into the hallway.

**-x-x-x-x-**

Alone hours later in bed, with Lou long gone and the silence of the night buzzing in her ears, Debbie reads through each step of her handwritten list once more. Although she'd planned each step carefully, once again, Lou always seems to be in the know long before she is. Debbie folds the list into a neat square and tucks it into the dresser beside her bed, wondering if Lou's about to beat her at her own game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had an emotionally rough last few days, and yet this fandom always lifts me up beyond words. Thank you to all who have read, kudoed or commented. You are awesome.
> 
> What the heck is Lou up to?!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to follow the links within this, which are marked with an underline! ;)

It takes every ounce of self control Debbie has not to spoil the surprise. Having coaxed the actual date out of Lou – only a few days away on the following Monday – it would be quite easy for her to pull up the Philharmonic's season and find out the theme for the night's concert. But Lou's clearly got something up her sleeve, and for once in her life, Debbie decides to lay back and just go along for the ride with no plans or motives or tasks to check off a list.

On Saturday morning, while Lou is uncharacteristically still asleep by the time 9am rolls around (Debbie vaguely remembers hearing the front door a little after 4am), she meets her Uber at the end of the driveway and disappears into the city as a woman on a mission. Tired of relying on others to get from place-to-place, and terrified Lou may actually kill her if she touches her car, Debbie instructs her driver to find the closest Ford dealership in Los Angeles. Having been a lifelong New Yorker, she's used to cabs, subways, or the ever-reliable walk through the city, but there's something exciting about buying her first car in almost a decade, the sight of a pretty, 2-door, bright yellow Mustang clear in her mind.

A few hours later, with windows down and radio blaring, Debbie rushes down the expressway in her new baby, paid in-full with a smile and a swirling signature, the engine humming deliciously as she accelerates, smooth as butter. She's never been much of a car person, but even _she_ has to admit how invigorating it feels to have the wind in her hair and the vibration at her fingertips through the steering wheel. Despite the persona she tries to give off around her friends, Debbie doesn't consider herself to be the “cool” girl, yet she gets a brief glimpse of how Lou must feel as she rushes down the road with a pair of sunglasses over her eyes and the sound of Stevie Nicks blaring from her radio, not-so-subtly channeling Lou in everything she does.

Michael Kors had never really been in her budget before the heist. Even when she was with Claude, living off of his schemes and the money from his shitty artwork, Debbie'd always been particularly thrifty with what she _did_ have. The opportunities to truly spoil herself have been few and far between, and she decides to enjoy her morning out alone to buy whatever her heart is set on, regardless of the price.

On a normal evening out on a date, especially a concert, Debbie'd wear a pair of dark wash jeans and a low cut blouse with some diamonds in her ears and charcoal eyeliner around her eyes and call it a night. But her snooping has led her to believe that this is more than a night of rock and roll with some shitty beer and cigarettes, and it's the perfect occasion to add an eye-popping evening gown to her wardrobe.

“Can I help you with something?”

Debbie turns away from the display of dresses hanging above her. “No...I mean...” She tilts her head. “I'm trying to figure out which one I want.” She reaches out and runs her fingers over the lace and rayon material of the gowns. There are a variety of colors and styles – some simple and elegant, others more modern and showy – and her head practically spins with all the possibilities. In reality, it's Lou who has always been at her side in this department, picking out things for her, draping layers and layers of gold and silver and diamonds over her neck and wrists and fingers, so to say she's feeling a bit out of place is an understatement.

“You can never go wrong with a simple black dress,” the saleswoman suggests. “But, of course, a dark blue or blood red are good choices too. What's the occasion if you don't mind me asking?”

“It's complicated,” Debbie admits.

Ultimately, she grabs two of the dresses to try on – [one navy with a pinched waist and a thin train](https://michaelkors.scene7.com/is/image/MichaelKors/426AKI065-0472_2?wid=558&hei=748&op_sharpen=1&resMode=sharp2&qlt=90), and the other a [black fishtail gown with a lace, long-sleeved top](https://michaelkors.scene7.com/is/image/MichaelKors/461CKE053A-0001_1?wid=558&hei=748&op_sharpen=1&resMode=sharp2&qlt=90). Debbie finagles each over her body and admires herself in the mirror. She's certainly never been the poster girl for self confidence, but she looks fucking _hot_ , and Lou would be an absolute fool to resist her in something like this. Grinning from ear-to-ear, Debbie pulls out her cell phone and snaps a few pictures. She opens up iMessage and shoots the series over to Daphne, who, seconds later, begins to FaceTime her.

Debbie accepts the video request and holds her phone up to her face.

“Daaaaaaaamn girl,” Daphne greets. “Where the hell are you?”

“Michael Kors.”

“Excellent choice. You are gonna blow Lou's _mind._ ”

Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Why do you assume it's Lou? Maybe I have a hot date here with someone new I've met during my _exciting_ California adventures?”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Sure. Are we going to _completely_ ignore the fact that you asked for my wooing advice not-so-long ago?”

“I never said _who_ it was about, though. And who the hell says _wooing_?”

“Mmmmhm,” Daphne answers with pursed lips. “Kay Deb. Whatever you say, Deb. You're so good at keeping secrets, Deb. The best, really.”

“Alright, you can shut up now,” Debbie laughs. She moves to the other side of the dressing room and props her phone up on the small corner seat so she can hold up one dress in each hand. “Ok, which one?”

“Well, it's so much more than just the dress. It's about the whole outfit,” Daphne explains.

“You've been hanging around Rose way too much for your own good.”

“Ahem,” Daphne clears her throat. “As I was saying. You gotta get the shoes, and the jewels. How are you going to do your hair? Oh, and your nails, and-”

**-x-x-x-x-**

“Want to enlighten me as to whose car is parked in my driveway?” Lou asks later that afternoon, finally making her way downstairs about an hour or so after Debbie returns from her shopping trip.

The sleep camisole she's still wearing is practically see-through, and it momentarily halts every cell in Debbie's brain when she sees her and, more importantly, the skin beneath the thin cotton. “ _Our_ driveway,” Debbie corrects through her distraction. “I've got her tied to the headboard upstairs. Just coming down here for a water break.” She accents her point with a swig from the plastic water bottle in her hand. “Sorry if we woke you. She's into pretty kinky shit.”

“Well don't let _me_ stop you,” Lou winks.

“I bought a car. It's not a Ferrari but-”

“I like it,” Lou interrupts. “Couldn't stand to have to travel around with me?” She fakes her pout, but even so, there's the slightest bit of hurt in her expression that Debbie immediately picks up.

“No, you're just working so late and I felt that I-”

Lou holds up her hand. “It's ok, Deb. Really. You don't owe me any explanation. This is your home now. You do what you need to do.”

“But it-”

“It's _fine_ , Deb,” Lou assures, a little more firmly this time.

As badly as she wants to, Debbie holds her tongue to keep herself from arguing any further.

**-x-x-x-x-**

When Monday finally arrives, Debbie spends the entire afternoon getting ready. Somehow, Lou's still managed to keep what exactly they're seeing from her, but Debbie carries on with the plan Daphne's helped put together. Post-shower, she starts with curlers in her hair, helping to achieve the soft waves that, no matter how much product she uses, never seem to come naturally. With Daphne's insistence, Debbie slides a matching pair of bra and panties – lace, black – over her hips and chest, “giving Lou something to peel off,” as Daphne had lovingly put it. Truthfully, Debbie's confident enough in the dress alone, hoping it will be enough to make Lou's mouth water, but there's no refusing black lace, and Debbie decides to give in to her heistmate's demands and simply go for it.

Once her foundation, contour, blush, eyeliner and mascara are put on and set, Debbie steps into the long black dress she's chosen, a [not-so-subtle lace piece](https://michaelkors.scene7.com/is/image/MichaelKors/461CKE053A-0001_2?wid=558&hei=748&op_sharpen=1&resMode=sharp2&qlt=90) that shows off the goods while still leaving enough to the imagination to only _whet_ Lou's appetite. Wiggling back and forth across the room, she finally manages to zip the gown all the way up, the material hugging the subtle curves at her chest and hips. Eyeing her reflection, Debbie carefully pulls out the curlers, giving her hair a quick toss when they are finally free of the clips.

As she applies a thick layer of dark-red lipstick across her mouth, Lou walks down the hall and stops at her doorway. “Are you ready to-” When Lou finally sees her, in her jet-black gown and matching pumps, with smoky eyes and shocking red lips and diamond hoops fastened in her ears, the rarely awestruck woman is, for once, speechless.

Debbie would take the time to feel quite proud of herself, that is, if she wasn't already _drooling,_ enamored by the sight of Lou in a [stunning, low-cut ruby suit](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1UKnEX8USMeJjy1zkq6yWmpXam/Red-One-Buttom-2-Piece-Sets-Womens-Business-Suits-Work-Female-Office-Uniform-Elegant-Pant-Suits.jpg_640x640.jpg). The white blouse she wears beneath it is similarly v-necked, the single gold chain and pendant dangling from her neck drawing Debbie's attention. There are, of course, a series of rings on many of Lou's fingers and a string of gold studs up the length of one ear. Her poker-straight, blonde hair is pulled up tightly at the back of her head except for the messy bangs that drape over her eyes, crystal blue peeking through every so often as she shifts. Lou regularly rocks the fresh-faced look, but tonight she opts for something a bit more bold, dark eyeliner and mascara at her eyes and a purple-red smear of lipstick at her mouth.

She'd be content with abandoning the concert altogether to spend the entire night gazing at Lou, and, more importantly, undressing her with her teeth. But if there's one thing that Debbie's learned over the years, it's that one must _always_ stick to the plan, and so, despite feeling a little dizzy by the sight of her partner so stunning and dapper (the flowery perfume at her pulse doesn't help either), Debbie steps forward with a veil of confidence and gives Lou's jacketed arm a squeeze. “Ready to go?” she asks, her manicured nails a surprising almost-match to Lou's suit.

“Get ready to hold on tight, princess. We're taking my bike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. I _love_ each and every one of them, and they have greatly inspired this new update! :)


	14. Chapter 14

It turns out, Lou isn't exactly kidding about the motorcycle thing. Not that Debbie is all that surprised by it, but Lou never likes to make things easy for her, and even a date night requires some unexpected maneuvering. Once Lou is settled on the bike, Debbie follows suit, bunching her dress up in a makeshift knot that, in turn, ends up showing off her bare legs all the way up to her thigh. Lou glances over and down, admiring for no more than a second or two before placing a helmet in Debbie's free hand.

“You're going to ruin my hair,” she whines.

Lou shoots her a pointed look, and in all their years together, she's learned there's no arguing with it. Besides, Lou might very well go off the deep end if anything were to happen to her, and so, with a huff, Debbie tugs the helmet over her head. Legs pressed against Lou's hips and arms tight around her waist – the fabric of her dress gripped tightly in one fist – Debbie holds her breath and waits for the rumble of the engine as the clutch is pulled.

Rushing down the road, Debbie's heart races, the adrenaline leaving her almost breathless. Sitting with her arms and legs tangled around the woman she's desperately craving doesn't exactly help things either, but if this is what a heart attack feels like – Lou's perfume in her lungs and hair in her face where it peeks beneath her helmet – Debbie's ready for the Pearly Gates.

By the look on the young valet's face as they pull in front of the concert hall, it's painfully apparent that a motorcycle isn't the traditional method of transportation for most of the evening's patrons. Debbie's actually shocked that Lou will even let anyone touch her baby, but city parking is at a premium and she knows that there is little to no chance they will ever find a spot on their own.

“If it comes back with a scratch, you'll have a few of your own to go home with,” Lou growls as she hands her helmet and keys over. With gentle hands, she helps Debbie down from the seat, keeping the long, black dress in place, but Lou's wandering eyes are not lost on Debbie before the fabric covers her skin once more.

Debbie's own helmet comes off with one swift movement, and when she's finally free of it, she exhales slowly and shakes out her hair, the soft, brown curls falling back into place around her face. A foot away, Lou's staring, her smile gentle but her eyes wild. She hands the helmet over to the valet without breaking eye contact, and Debbie's lips part ever-so-slightly when Lou combs her fingers through a few loose waves near her cheek.

“Fixing it for you,” Lou explains.

They walk side-by-side into the concert hall, and bring the median age down considerably. The subscription crowd is out in full force on a Monday night, and the way they eye Lou in particular, in her bright red suit that stands out among the sea of black and white, makes Debbie's blood pressure climb.

“Want a drink?”

“Yes,” Debbie practically sighs. As she waits for Lou to return, a man approaches her with his own glass of wine. Tall, dark-haired and dressed in a fine black jacket, he immediately reminds her of Claude, which only works to sour her mood before he even has the chance to speak.

When he does, he's just about as annoying as she'd expected him to be.

“Hi beautiful.”

“Hmm,” Debbie responds shortly, looking around behind her to see where the hell Lou is.

“Are you here alone?”

“No, actually.” Lou's voice is low, and the sound of it in Debbie's ear actually makes her shiver. A glass of red wine finds its way into her hand, as does an arm around her lower back and waist. It's a possessive side of Lou that she's never really seen before, at least not with _her_ , but _boy_ does she love it. Debbie smirks in the man's direction and enjoys her drink while he and Lou silently standoff. “Want to go get our seats, _honey_?” Lou asks, her emphasis perfectly placed, which earns them a pair of wide eyes across from them.

“Yes, _darling_.” She finishes her wine in a few quick gulps and tosses her empty glass into a nearby trash bin. When they are far enough away from the unrelenting man, Debbie leans closer into Lou's embrace and lowers her voice. “You weren't _jealous_ back there, were you Lou?”

“Of course not. Just saving you from Prince Charming.” But the answer is far too quick and sharp to be true. Debbie doesn't need Lou to say it, but she's more than aware of what's driven the woman's sudden public display of affection. They make their way into the theater, Lou slyly pulling their tickets out of the pocket of her slacks. It isn't until they've stepped down further into the concert hall that Debbie realizes two things.

 **One:** According to the night's playbill that an elderly woman hands her, their night will be spent listening to a “contemporary take on Tchaikovsky's finest”.

 **Two:** Their seats are directly in front of the stage.

“How much did this cost?” Debbie asks once they are settled, her voice hushed but firm in Lou's ear.

“What does it matter? We're millionaires.”

“Not the point,” Debbie huffs. But, if she's being honest, she'd spend every penny if it would make Lou happy.

Over the years, Lou has gone along with dozens of Debbie's plans, even if they weren't exactly what _she_ wanted to do, or the way she'd envisioned them. As the lights dim and the music swells, Debbie expects to find her date sitting uncomfortably in her seat, fingering through the paper fold in her hand and counting down the minutes until the concert is over. She wouldn't blame her. Not in the slightest. But Lou is rapt with attention throughout the entirety of the show. When the violins play, high and melodic and strangely heartbreaking, Debbie bites back her own wave of emotion to glance over beside her, finding light-blue eyes teary and glistening beneath the shadows. Quietly, she reaches for Lou's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

They remain that way for the rest of the evening, Debbie's palm resting atop Lou's hand, playing subconsciously with the rings at each of her fingers.

While the night starts with a traditional orchestra – with various strings, horns and a stunning piano – the second half welcomes guitars and a unique collection of percussions to bring the pieces into the 21st century. Debbie enjoys it – more than she'd expected, in fact, being a bit of a snob when it comes to the classics – but Lou seems to be having a revelation of sorts, holding her breath as the guitarist quickens her pace with the shift of the tempo. Debbie can practically _feel_ Lou's pulse racing at her wrist with the rise and fall of the music.

When the show ends, Lou is the first to her feet, clapping enthusiastically.

Debbie's not sure if she's ever seen Lou more beautiful.

**-x-x-x-x-**

As they stand outside in the dark waiting for the valet to return Lou's bike, Debbie strikes up conversation. “Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? Somehow you were able to survive a night of Tchaikovsky with me?”

Lou smiles. “Yeah, it was alright.”

Debbie tilts her head and smirks, seeing right through Lou's bullshit.

“Ok, it was incredible. You may even get me to listen to some of this again. Bring out my guitar and play a little.” She winks. “Maybe. I make no promises.”

“Mozart next week?” Debbie suggests playfully.

“Don't push it.”

The conversation fades and they fall into comfortable silence. Lou stands close as they wait, a hand at Debbie's shoulder as the rest of the crowd spills from the concert hall and makes for a rather uncomfortable pot of people soup. There's little respect for personal space, and when an older couple practically barrel rolls into Debbie as they cross the walkway, Lou catches her like something out of a romantic comedy, not a beat missed, as though she'd planned it all along. Yet, the fire and irritation on Lou's face signal that she'd happily give the rude pair a piece of her mind if it wouldn't start a scene. Debbie hooks her arm with Lou's, simultaneously thanking her and begging her to behave.

Or at least, until they're alone.

**-x-x-x-x-**

At home, with no coworkers or heistmates or rickety old boats to bother them, Debbie and Lou lounge outside near the pool together, sprawled out on two chairs as they admire the pitch black sky above them. A splatter of stars twinkle above, but it's the moon that looks especially beautiful in the dark. Seated beside her, Lou takes a drag from the cigarette between her fingers, then blows it slowly into the air, the smoke wisping eerily beneath the moonlight. Debbie wants to scold Lou for smoking in that stunning, expensive suit of hers, but opts to instead take the cigarette for herself, wrapping her red-painted lips around the edge of the white-grey paper, inevitably staining the edge of it.

“It's weird to watch you smoke,” Lou comments with a chuckle.

“I was going for sexy, but _thanks_ ,” Debbie coughs. She hands the cigarette over and lays back further into the lounge chair, hooking one leg up, the fabric of her dress falling to one side. Lou silently eyes her again before taking another long drag, as if the nicotine holds back something she won't otherwise allow herself to confess.

“By the way, _you little shit_ , I _know_ you knew where we were going tonight.”

Debbie feigns innocence with a bat of her eyelashes.

“Next time you wanna spy, have Nine give you some pointers.”

“Maybe I did it on purpose,” Debbie offers with a shrug.

“ _Right._ ”

“Why didn't you change the plans, then?”

“And miss the opportunity to see you in that?” Lou waves toward Debbie's stunning gown. “Not a chance.”

“You're awful sure of yourself. I could have very well come in jeans and a t-shirt and pretended not to be privy to your little scheme.”

“Yeah, except I know you, and there's no way you would have made a fool of yourself like that. Debbie Ocean is poised, cool, collected, polished, pristine. I, for one, was shocked you even let me take the bike. I expected a full on hissy fit about that one and some animated demands for a limousine.”

“I let it slide,” Debbie interjects. “But don't get used to it.”

Lou stands and throws the butt of the cigarette down onto the concrete, putting it out with the toe of her gorgeous heels. She looks like a vixen standing in the dark, a devil Debbie would happily burn with. In the quiet of the night, with the nearby ocean rocking back and forth, the faint sound of nature around them, Lou joins Debbie in her chair, sitting on the edge with her feet flat against the ground. Debbie's usually good at deciphering Lou's body language, easily guessing three of four steps ahead, but this time, she can hardly guess what's ahead.

“There's something I've wanted to do all night,” Lou confesses, looking away from Debbie with her hands on her knees. She runs her palm back and forth nervously overly over her kneecap and bows her head, sighing shakily. “Longer than that, really, but I...”

“Lou?” Debbie sits up straight and squeezes her forearm with one hand.

Lou turns, faces her. “Mmm?”

Debbie shifts her hand from Lou's bicep to the shoulder of her suit, then up her bare neck to caress her strong jawline with a brush of her thumb. It's barely anything and, yet, everything at once, and even in the lukewarm California air, Lou is smoldering, the sharp line of her cheekbones showing the hint of a blush. They've always hesitated, played this game. Debbie's always assumed it would forever be that way, even after Lou's revelation before the heist. They've danced around the truth, the reality of the situation, for decades, and while Debbie hardly has the answers – in fact, it will only bring about _more_ questions – she knows for certain that she can do nothing else in the moment but kiss Lou, soft on the lips, not eager or urgent, just testing, confessing shyly.

And so, while lazily stroking Lou's hair with one hand, she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. I have not had the chance to respond to each from the last chapter, but rest assured, I love each and every one of them and will be soon! Thank you, thank you, thank you! xo
> 
> A reminder that you can always find me over on [my Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/)! But first, leave a comment below with your thoughts ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a very, _very_ brief reference to my prequel fic "The Bottle Let Me Down" within this chapter. However, you do not need to read it to understand what's happening here :) Enjoy!

It starts off slow. Like the music they'd listened so fondly to only a few hours earlier, their kiss begins soft and tentative, building from a peck to a caress until they ebb and flow and crescendo together. When their lips first touch, Lou stiffens, and it's as if Debbie's worst fears have come true. But only seconds pass before Lou eases, melts into her touch with the sweetest sigh Debbie's ever heard.

Since Claude Becker, Lou's incredibly skilled at keeping up her chilly, guarded persona. There are ground rules that have been set for herself, silent and personal that she doesn't share with anyone, yet the aura, the intention of them is still hinted at with each calculated choice. Knowing this, Debbie'd always imagined it would be Lou who would eventually break her, take control and completely shatter her the way she deserves. And yet, it's Lou who completely falls now, crumbling into Debbie's embrace, leaning into the way she gently cups her cheek, guides her fingers along her jawline and behind her ear to the back of her neck, pulling them closer, guiding.

“What was it you wanted to do?” Debbie whispers across Lou's lips as they break apart for a second, slightly dizzy and drunk off each other.

Lou carefully runs her thumb along Debbie's lower lip. “You read my mind,” she answers with her signature smile, flirty and coy.

At times, Debbie's wanted to slap it right off her pretty little face, but now... _god_ , now all she wants to do is kiss it over and over. She tilts her head again and leans in closer, so close that she'd barely have to move for their lips to touch. Then, unexpectedly, Debbie stops. “You're not drunk, right?”

“No,” Lou laughs, “I'm not drunk off a _single_ glass of wine. I-”

“I just want to be sure. Because last time, it-”

“I know,” she interrupts, nervously breaking eye contact. She turns her head away and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ears. It's a shy gesture that Debbie hasn't seen Lou do in years – decades, maybe. It reminds her of when they first met, when Lou'd flirted shamelessly and she'd just...well, she'd missed that chance due to her own fear.

But maybe California is the second chance they both need.

**-x-x-x-x-**

Debbie aches for her. When they make their way back inside and up to her bedroom, Debbie actually whimpers – yes, a real whimper that she's definitely going to get teased about in the morning – when Lou's hands find the zipper of her dress and pull, urging the gown onto the floor with a flick of her wrist. Lou's fingers are cold as they ghost along the length of her spine, learning the curve and contours of her bare back. It's slow and intimate unlike anything any other lover has done before, and when Lou kisses the back of her neck and shoulders, Debbie holds her breath and swallows the tears that burn.

But Lou – amazing Lou, who is oh so perceptive to every twitch, every quiver, every hitch of breath – stops what she's doing and spins Debbie so they are facing each other again. With their fingers laced together, they move to the bed, Debbie only a few steps behind. Lou – in her white blouse and red slacks, the top of her suit and her matching heels having been tossed aside the second they'd walked through the door – sprawls herself over the thin sheet and pulls Debbie into a gentle-yet-secure embrace, one arm wrapped around her back and waist while the other smooths out the long mess of brown hair framing her cheeks and neck. “I like your hair this length,” Lou compliments, easing the tension in the air. “I'll admit that when I first saw you that day at the cemetery, I thought maybe they were some expensive extensions you managed to smuggle in but no-” She tugs playfully. “All real.”

“It's easier to manage when it's shorter. Less tangled. Wigs fit better when we were in disguise. I'd thought about cutting it when I got out, but...”

“It's more fun to play with this way,” Lou insists, wrapping her index finger around a particularly long strand. “And to pull.”

“And how would you know _that_?”

“Lucky guess.” She tickles the back of Debbie's neck.

Curled up against Lou, Debbie's not sure if she's ever experienced such a feeling of calm. Their lives have been chaotic, to say the least, but all the worrying and the heartache and the _shit_ just disappears with Lou's arms around her. Eager for a little more contact, Debbie works her fingers around the clear buttons of Lou's white blouse, which she pulls over strong, defined arms with ease. Lou actually shivers – _shivers_ , which makes the hair stand on the back of Debbie's neck – as Debbie's fingertips brush over her collarbone and sternum, such delicate, sensitive places to learn.

Contented, Debbie rests her cheek against Lou's chest and closes her eyes. She'd love to undress this woman beneath her, make her writhe with light, well-placed touches. But there is no need to rush. They've waited long enough for this simple moment, this kiss that isn't fueled by tears or whiskey. With her ear to Lou's breast, she falls asleep to the sound of Lou's racing heart and the feeling of fingertips tracing up and down her spine.

**-x-x-x-x-**

Unlike last time, they don't sweep their kiss under the rug. In fact, Lou greets her in bed the next morning with a cup of coffee and a teasing kiss perfectly placed behind her ear. It's a delicious alarm, but also an excellent way to assure Debbie that the entire evening hadn't been some alcohol-fueled fever dream.

When Debbie makes her way downstairs, mug in hand, steam rising from the top of it and warming her lips as she takes a sip, Lou whips up a quick breakfast – over easy eggs, some turkey bacon and a collection of fresh-cut fruit. They eat together at the counter, and as Lou dips a piece of toast into the gooey yolk of her egg and takes a bite, she notices Debbie smiling across from her, eyes sparkling.

“What?” Lou asks, her mouth full.

“Your face,” Debbie comments.

Lou quickly swallows and raises an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I like it.”

Despite her badass facade, a flattered pink colors Lou's cheeks, and Debbie vows to spend the rest of her life making Lou blush.

**-x-x-x-x-**

Always restless in her life, Debbie's never considered herself a “relationship” type of girl. Even with Claude, everything had been so adventurous and on-the-go that they'd never really fallen into the boring tropes of dating and living together. Yet, over the days following their midnight kiss at the pool, Debbie particularly enjoys the little gestures that come with dating Lou.

The way they lay together watching the newest episode of Masterchef, or Chopped, or Top Chef, or basically anything that has to do with cooking because they're Lou's absolute favorites.

How Lou lights up when they go exploring in the city, trying out corner restaurants of so many varieties that Debbie's certain she's gained _at least_ ten pounds in a week's time.

Lou's hands when they find her waist as she washes the dishes, working as a delicious distraction until they're both soapy, lemon-scented messes.

The way Lou folds her pajamas each morning and sets them at the edge of the bed, waiting for her when bedtime rolls around.

Or, really, the way Lou does absolutely _anything_.

And it's then that Debbie realizes that yes – she is _hopelessly_ in love with Lou Miller.

**-x-x-x-x-**

“You can't just ask for my opinion on a dress like that and then refuse to tell me about the date,” Daphne pouts. It's almost a week after their date at the Philharmonic, and Debbie's tried to stay away from gossip and social media and just enjoy her time alone with Lou. But Daphne's sick and tired of being ignored, and after the tenth call in the span of 3 days, Debbie finally answers and shares some of the dirty details.

“She loved it, obviously,” Debbie offers, waiting for Daphne to beg for more. Which, of course, she promptly does.

“Spill, Debbie. I need to know everything. Is Lou as good in bed as she looks? Is she into spanking? I'm one-hundred percent certain she's into spanking.”

“Jesus Christ, Daphne.”

“I'm just being honest.”

“Well,” Debbie continues carefully, “I can't exactly say that I know.”

There's a beat on the other end, and then Daphne's voice is booming from the speaker. “Are you telling me that after all of this flirting and fondling and god knows what else, that you two still haven't fucked? Because if you're not going to, I'll hop a private jet myself and happily jump to the front of that line.”

“You're a brat. You know that, right?”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Daphne croons.

“We have had some pretty fantastic makeout sessions that would put any teenager to shame,” Debbie gloats. “But yeah, she...I don't know, she seems a little nervous. Hesitant. I don't want to ruin it. I mean, it took us this long just to get to this point. It's not that I don't think she wants to, I think she's just worried what that next step might do to a relationship that's already this fragile, ya know?”

“You and your grown up _reasoning_ ,” Daphne grumbles. “Listen, I told you before. All you gotta do is make her a little bit jealous. Make her realize what she's got and that she doesn't wanna lose it. Her hands will be all over you.”

With Daphne's suggestion, Debbie recalls her list and the two remaining items on it: _Earplugs_ and _Green-Eyed Monste_ r. It had been her plan to win Lou with this list, and she's already accomplished that, so is there really a point to finishing it? Perhaps, one day soon, they'll go to a concert together of Lou's choosing, but the green-eyed monster...

“I dunno,” Debbie sighs, “I don't want to do anything that's going to upset her. Although, I will say, when we went out to the Philharmonic, there was this guy who was all up on me and Lou put an end to that shit in seconds flat.”

“Like a month to a flame,” Daphne hums. “See, I told you. Jealousy has its place in any relationship. It's a tried and true technique.”

“Coming from the woman who is single, mind you.”

“By choice, obviously.”

“Oh yeah, _obviously_.” Debbie rolls her eyes.

“Do it, Deb. You won't regret it. And the next morning, you better call me with all the dirty, nasty, filthy details.”

“Goodbye, Daphne.”

Contemplating Daphne's words long after the call ends, Debbie sits on the edge of her bed and chews the inside of her mouth – a bad habit that's always accompanied her scheming. She runs her hands through her long hair and sighs. This plan could either go beautifully or terribly. Lou's shown plenty of moments of painful jealousy over the course of their relationship, but they'd also never committed to each other _this_ way before.

But Debbie also loves a challenge, a job within a job, as Lou loves to say. And the perfect person comes to mind to make her woman just _slightly_ green-eyed.

Shoving her cell phone into the pocket of her jeans, Debbie bounces down the long staircase to find Lou in the living room, clicking aimlessly through the television guide for something to watch.

“Hey,” Debbie greets. “I'm coming with you tonight to the club.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Deb...*shakes head*
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! You all are amazing! Thank you to EVERYONE who has read, kudo-ed, commented...I appreciate all of you :) 
> 
> As always, you can find me on [my Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/) to discuss all things Debbie x Lou. But make sure to leave a comment below first ;)


	16. Chapter 16

Only a few-week-long Californian, Debbie quickly learns that in the middle of a California summer, the heat and dry air never really sleep. As they travel into town in Lou's Ferrari, Debbie rests her arm against the open window frame and enjoys the cool breeze on her face and through her hair, a welcome and refreshing reprieve from the incessant heat of the day. It takes five minutes for the wind to ruin the look she'd spent over an hour on (as well as half a bottle of mousse), but Debbie tries not to care, focusing instead on steadying her nerves as they arrive at _Blind Spot_.

Before any heist, she's always felt this exciting rush of adrenaline, the impulse that pulls her through. Yet something feels different this time. She's nervous and nauseous - certainly not in a good way. Such a wreck already, Debbie's sure she'll never be able to pull any of this off; Lou will read the fear all over her face before they step foot into the club.

But as they pull into the private parking spot at the back of the building, Lou simply turns to her, takes her hand in hers for a quick kiss, and steps out of the car, waiting at the driver's side for Debbie to join her before they walk to the door together.

“You look great tonight,” Lou compliments as she pulls her keys from her back pocket. She eyes Debbie slowly, in her short maroon cocktail dress with a black accent around the neckline.

“Thanks,” Debbie responds shyly, and that alone should tip Lou off. There's no snark, no sassy comment about normally looking good, or about picking her jaw up off the floor. Instead, she slips into the club as soon as the lock clicks and the door swings open with a thud.

“I have some paperwork I need to get done,” Lou explains over the steady beat of music blaring from the opposite end of the bar. “Do you want to come up with me, or...?”

“I'm gonna stay down here for a bit. Find me when you're done?”

Lou salutes with two fingers, then disappears into the crowd and up the staircase to her office on the second floor. Debbie watches until she vanishes from sight, admiring the sway of her hips in her tight leather pants and the sparkling silver boots she's paired them with. Even among a sea of gorgeous, eligible women, Lou manages to be the most beautiful woman in the place.

With a sigh, Debbie returns her focus to the task at hand. Moving through the dance floor, she manages to situate herself at the bar, and is greeted not by the somewhat familiar face she'd expected, but a cute blonde with deep dimples and sparkling blue-green eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a loose bun with a few curly strands framing her face, and the tight tank-top she wears leaves little to the imagination, which is probably to her favor as she rakes in generous tips throughout the night from drunk patrons. “Can I get you something?” she asks as Debbie situates herself on one of the barstools.

If she were smart, Debbie'd recall her not-so-graceful encounter with a whiskey bottle barely a week ago or two ago. But without Lou, there's little else she can do to relax herself, and so with a quick smile, she orders a Captain and Coke, hoping the soda inside the mixed drink will lessen her chances of getting _completely_ shitfaced by the time Lou returns. When the bartender returns with the glass, a half a lime set on the edge of it, Debbie tries to pay with a ten-dollar bill from her handbag, but is quickly rejected.

“On the house.”

“What would the owner think if she knew you were giving out free drinks?” Debbie teases before sliding the tiny red straw over her tongue to take a slow sip.

“Our little secret?”

The girl's cute. Far too young for her, and a bit too... _pretty_ to be her type. Lou wouldn't believe it for a second. Debbie sighs and drinks a little faster, shifting in her seat to get a better look at the crowd. She doesn't recognize anyone, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but a random stranger isn't going to boil Lou's blood – not _here_ , anyway. No, it has to be someone familiar, someone who will really hit a chord.

“Are you taking good care of her, Maureen?”

Debbie turns in the other direction to face the voice behind her. She's only heard it a few times, but she immediately recognizes the woman it belongs to. “AJ.”

“That's my name. I'd say don't wear it out, but...” AJ's pathetic excuse at flirting makes the hair on the back of Debbie's neck stand. Not that AJ isn't a catch. Her dark features – skin, eyes, hair, makeup – certainly make Debbie a little envious, and while the thought of she and Lou together makes Debbie unbelievably jealous, she can't exactly blame Lou for being attracted to her; Miss California AJ is in a league all her own. “Is Lou here?”

“Upstairs working. She should be back down in a bit.”

“I'm actually on my way out for the night,” AJ explains. “Just let her know that everything should be ready for the overnight crew, and that I will be here in the morning for the liquor drop-”

Now or never. Debbie takes a deep breath, then downs the rest of her drink in two gulps, hardly one to give up when she's so close to the finish line. Finding a burst of confidence from deep inside her, Debbie jumps up from her seat and steps close to AJ. “Wanna come dance with me?” she asks, pointing over to the very crowded dance floor.

“Oh I...I was just about to leave, but...” AJ's eyes dart around the room, and Debbie guesses she, too, is looking for Lou. But whatever reservations she may have seem to clear up rather quickly, as AJ tosses her bag behind the bar and follows Debbie with little hesitation as she tugs her over to the middle of the room by the hand, body swaying back and forth to the beat of the techno music blaring over the various speakers mounted on the walls.

Hardly considering herself much of a dancer, Debbie lets the rum do the work, closing her eyes and running her fingers through her own hair to put herself in the mood, losing herself in the moment. When she opens her eyes a few seconds later, AJ's dancing in front of her with a giant smile on her face, eyes sparkling beneath the bright white, purple and pink lights that flash wildly around them. The thought of having to touch AJ first both excites and terrifies Debbie, yet it's AJ who surprisingly takes the lead, resting a hand flat on her shoulder as they find a rhythm together, hips close but not quite pressed up against each other.

Debbie's heart races, and her head spins, but still she dances, a little faster now, hips rocking, fingers tangling in her own hair and down her neck until she reaches over to stroke AJ's shoulder and cheek. The tempo quickens around them, and the music is so loud Debbie can practically feel it buzzing through her strapped high-heels. With the couples around them grinding and kissing and caressing at the center of the dance floor, she feels a bit awkward simply swaying with AJ across from her, and with a burst of confidence, she reaches out and pulls AJ closer by her waist, watching the other woman's face for any signs of discomfort. When she finds none, she closes her eyes and rocks their hips together, Debbie imagining Lou the entire time as their skin touches, hot and pulsing and sweaty as the air conditioning struggles to cool the room.

“Debbie?”

She knows _exactly_ who it is. The voice cuts right through the music and, subsequently, her heart.

“Hi Lou,” AJ greets excitedly, oblivious to the pain that is clearly written all over Lou's face. “Debbie had-”

“Hi honey,” Debbie drawls, just slightly tipsy off the music and her drink. She wraps an arm around AJ's shoulder and pulls her closer, but her eyes never leave Lou's. “Want to join us?”

Lou, on the other hand, seems rather unamused. “Want to tell me what the hell is happening here?”

“Happening? N-nothing's happening,” AJ backpedals.

“Unless you want it to, of course,” Debbie adds. “Come _ooon_ , Lou. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. She's gorgeous. I can admit it. Don't tell me you wouldn't want to watch. Or tell us what to do.”

“Wha-” AJ pulls away from Debbie's hold.

Lou sets her jaw and crosses her arms over her chest. “This...this is _not_ funny, Deb.”

“You aren't _jealous_ , are you Lou?” Debbie makes sure to accent that one word in particular.

“Fuck you,” Lou growls.

“I mean...” Debbie wiggles her eyebrows. But Lou doesn't budge, and it's this point that Debbie realizes her plan has gone more than horribly wrong. She reaches out to take Lou's hand, but she's having none of it, standing firm with her hands at her ribcage. “I'm just teasing. Of course I'm teasing, Lou. I-”

“Fuck you, Deb,” Lou repeats, and this time it isn't cold and icy, but shaky and broken, like she's on the verge of tears. Before Debbie has the chance to say anything else, Lou stomps through the crowd to the exit, barreling through the mostly-empty employee parking lot behind the club.

“Lou, come on.”

“You know what, Deb?” Lou hisses. “You've done some really awful shit over the years. But this...” She laughs angrily. “It wasn't enough that you had to leave me for Claude fucking Becker, but now you have to play games with my _only_ friend here? You didn't stop to think that maybe, just maybe, my jealousy has some reasoning behind it? Couldn't have anything to do with the fact that as soon as something better bats an eye at you, you just skip right into their arms.”

“That wasn't what happened here.”

“Will you _ever_ pick me first?” Lou's voice cracks with the question. “I've always picked you, even when there were so many others there waiting. It's always been you. And only you. And yet...”

“This was just a mistake,” Debbie explains, trying to keep calm despite feeling incredibly nauseous. “I didn't want to do it, but Daphne-”

“ _Daphne._ ” Lou turns away and runs both hands through her messy blonde hair. “Of course.” Burying one hand deep into her left pocket, she grabs her car keys and tosses them across the blacktop. “I'm going for a walk.” When Debbie races to her, kicking off her heels so she can reach her faster, Lou turns and adds, “ _Don't_ follow me.”

Debbie's shoulders sink.

“Whenever you're done with whatever the hell this is, try not to fuck my car like you perpetually like to fuck _me_ over, ok?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, ok? ;) 
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more!
> 
> As always, you can come over and yell at me on [Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/). But make sure to leave a comment below first ;)


	17. Chapter 17

At first glance, Debbie'd fallen in love with Lou's red hot Ferrari. Secretly, even if only for half a second, she'd hoped for the chance to drive it one day. But racing down the highway with tears down her cheeks and snot under her nose was not _exactly_ what she'd had in mind when she'd wanted to get behind the wheel. There's little traffic this late, but Debbie still weaves back and forth between lanes, unable to think or see straight with blurry eyes and a pounding headache. From the small handbag she'd brought along with her, she hears the chime of her cell phone, no doubt a series of text messages from Daphne asking how her night has gone, but Debbie ignores them as she pulls into the driveway, quickly cutting the engine and running into the house to see if Lou's somehow beaten her home.

Unsurprisingly, despite Debbie's searching up and down each floor and along the pool and patio, Lou's nowhere to be found. She thinks about calling her, but Lou'd been pretty stern in her telling her to kindly _fuck off_ , and after screwing things up as much as she already has, Debbie knows, deep down, that giving Lou the space she needs is the best thing she can possibly do. The realization doesn't make it any easier though, and the silence of the empty house hums uncomfortably in Debbie's ears as she sits alone, staring at her reflection in the empty black screen of their television.

No amount of groveling will fix what she's done, and for the first time in her life, Debbie feels absolutely hopeless. As if it will somehow change the outcome, she thinks of so many different scenarios – dancing with Lou, on the town with Lou, alone on the beach with Lou, _anything_ but the mess they've found themselves in. She'd acted on impulse this time, hadn't been able to plan for five years, eight months and twelve days before putting her plan in action. And what a _fool_ she'd been _._

A glutton for punishment, Debbie pulls her handwritten list from her bag, a token she's taken with her from place-to-place as she's carried out her makeshift heist. She stares at the crumpled piece of paper, and her sadness suddenly shifts to anger as she rips it in two and crushes each side in her fists until her plans are nothing more than two tiny balls, which she promptly shoves under the couch cushion.

Debbie's phone rings and buzzes once more. Frustrated, she moves to silence it, but answers it when she sees who is calling her.

“Tammy. Where the hell have you been? Nice of you to-”

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” Tammy interrupts, sounding exasperated.

“What?” Debbie taps the speaker button and tosses the phone beside her on the couch.

“ _What_ did you do? I go away for a few weeks with my family and come back tonight to a phone call from Lou that ended in me having to beg her not to hop on her bike and drive completely across the country to get away from _you_.”

 _That_ hurts more than any broken bone, any slap, any bruise. “She called you?”

“She didn't say much. Kept saying that you'd 'done it again', but wouldn't elaborate. Debbie, are you really that oblivious? _Why_ do you keep doing this to her?”

“Doing _what_ again?” Debbie barks. “If you remember, Tammy, _I_ was the one that had to spend half a decade in jail. _Not_ her.”

Tammy sighs. “Yes, Debbie, you're right. She didn't go to jail. Not technically, anyway. But she was broken. You'd left without any explanation. Didn't take her calls. Wouldn't see her. She tried to write you a _letter_ , for Christ's sake. Nothing. Had to hear it from me that you were in jail once Claude bailed on you. Do you have any idea how much you have hurt her?” Tammy stops for a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, calmer. “You know she's been texting with me and Rose and Nine Ball since you got there, right? Asking for the perfect way to tell you she's in love with you. I couldn't respond much but I saw it. She was so excited, Deb. She lights up any time she talks about you. It's so obvious, even through text, how happy you make her. Which is a total _mystery_ to me since you treat her like complete _shit_ on a regular basis.”

Suddenly, Rose and Nine Ball's suggestions and interfering make much more sense. Rose's boat choice had clearly been a ploy to force them together, and Nine Ball's hacking Lou's playlist had clearly been part of a larger plan. It was Nine's mention of the classical music that had led her to snoop and make their date night even more memorable, with the gown and the atmosphere and the romance and...

Feeling overwhelmed, Debbie ends the call and throws her phone across the room, where it lands with a thud after crashing loudly into the wall. She rests her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands, her throat tightening, the taste of salt strong on her tongue as tears fall into her palms and across her lips.

A broken arm at 24 after a heist gone wrong didn't make her cry. And she certainly didn't cry when Claude abandoned her. She didn't cry after the brawl that landed her in solitary with a fractured rib and a bloody nose. But alone in their house, with no idea when – or _if_ – Lou will return, Debbie sobs.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

She wakes on the couch as the sunrise peeks through the window and a ray of light swipes across her face. The emotional hangover she has is an absolute killer, and as she cracks one eye open and immediately regrets it, Debbie knows that she'll be spending the day nursing a migraine and an anxious stomach. She wipes the sleep from her face, yawns, and stretches slowly, pulling away the blanket that's wrapped around her and tossing it over the edge of the couch.

Blanket.

She hadn't grabbed one before she'd passed out from exhaustion after hours of crying. Although Lou keeps several afghans folded in a chest across the room, there's no way she would have been able to aimlessly grab for one in her sleep.

Which leaves two options – either the house is haunted and they have a ghost who is particularly concerned with her comfort, or Lou came home and put it there.

Suddenly wide awake, Debbie jumps up from the couch and bounds up the stairs. Lou's likely asleep after their long, exhausting night, and the last thing Debbie wants is to wake her. She holds her breath and moves quietly across the hardwood; the tap of bare feet has never sounded louder, yet, peeking through the doorway, Lou still appears asleep despite it, on her side with her back turned to the door. With her legs curled up to her chest, she looks so small, so delicate and fractured in a way Lou rarely allows herself to be in the waking world.

In the early 2000's, they tried to steal from a casino – a small one, nothing on par with what her brother had accomplished. But _tried_ was the operative word, as they'd left with nothing but bruised egos and Debbie on the receiving end of a particularly mean left hook, having been the target of a gruff security guard's attention as they'd tried to sneak away. That night, at their shitty excuse for a hotel, Lou'd stayed up all night with her, holding ice up to her swollen face and a glass of whiskey on the rocks to her lips, assuring her that if, god forbid, the bruised eye had to go, she'd wear an eyepatch in solidarity.

Now, for the umpteenth time in the story of their lives together, Lou is broken by her carelessness, and Debbie's certain it will take more than a sense of humor and an eyepatch to fix things.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

If Lou's words cut deep in the _Blind Spot_ parking lot, the silent treatment is even more painful.

“Hey.” Debbie slides a cup of coffee across the counter – in Lou's favorite mug, no less – when she finally comes down for something to eat mid-afternoon. It's far too late in the day for coffee, but Debbie knows Lou's drink preferences by heart – before 5: coffee, after 5: vodka. It's never changed in their decades together, and Debbie's guessing that a few months in California haven't radically altered that.

Yet Lou ignores her peace offering, brushing by her to dig into the refrigerator for a bottled water and a single-serve cup of yogurt.

“I made a sandwich.”

Lou stops and turns, stares blankly.

“Turkey, cheese, tomato, lettuce, mustard. I was hungry and thought you might be too.” Debbie points to the paper plate on the kitchen counter. A simple sandwich shouldn't cause such tension, yet time slows to a crawl as Debbie waits for Lou to react.

Without missing a beat, Lou picks up the plate, stares into Debbie's soul with those icy blue eyes, and promptly tosses the food in the trash. Lou storms out of the room with her water and yogurt in hand, not interested in small talk, and although Debbie knows she should just give her space, all rationale goes out the door as her emotions take over instead.

“Ok, I deserved that,” Debbie agrees, a few steps behind Lou as she winds her way through the living room and up the stairs. “Can we just talk? You can scream at me. Slap me. Whatever will make you feel better. I just want to-”

“No,” Lou answers coldly as she rounds the corner to her bedroom. Before Debbie gets the chance to argue further, a door slams in her face.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Despite Lou's silence, Debbie is determined to make things right. She picks up Lou's favorite foods, folds her laundry, even washes and waxes her car. But days of desperate attempts do little to fix things as Lou continues to hide in her bedroom, only coming out for the occasional meal and alternating shifts at the bar.

After nearly a week of the silent treatment, Lou finally emerges for more than a few minutes to spend some time by the pool. Debbie watches from a distance inside, realizing just how much she's missed Lou's face, her warmth, her snarky sense of humor. Something as simple as reading a book in the sun should not be as captivating as Lou makes it out to be, but Debbie can't pry her eyes away as Lou's long fingers run along the pages of the paperback. At some point in her isolation, Lou's painted her nails, now a bright, shimmering shade of red. It's the small details that Debbie loves the most, and when Lou cards her fingers through her hair, brushing her bangs aside, Debbie's rapt with attention at the glimmer of her hair and the clear finish of her polish as the light catches it just so.

It's likely that Lou will run the other way if she tries to join her, yet Debbie's desperate for even a brief moment of conversation after all of the depressing silence. “I bought you something.”

Lou doesn't budge from her spot on the lounge chair when Debbie places a single white lily down in the empty space beside her.

“It made me think of you. I know they're your favorite.” Debbie stands awkwardly, waiting for Lou to say or do something.

But Lou doesn't really react at all. Not until Debbie goes back inside, after the uncomfortable tension becomes too much. Debbie, sneaky as ever, watches from her perch inside, in a corner that Lou can't quite see from the pool. Lou carefully picks up the flower by its stem and admires each pedal with gentle fingertips. It's a fleeting moment – blink, and Debbie may have missed it – but its meaning is not lost on her, especially when Lou tucks the lily behind her ear before returning to her book.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

She knows she shouldn't eavesdrop. After everything, Debbie should stay in her lane, mind her own business, keep to herself. But that's nearly impossible when it's 2am and their rooms are so close, the walls paper thin.

“What am I supposed to do, Tam? I am trying so hard here but it's been exhausting.” There's a pause for Tammy to respond with something Debbie can't quite hear, followed by the quiet hiccup of Lou's tears. “AJ? I haven't really spoken with her since this all happened.” Another beat. “I know it isn't her fault, but she didn't have to play along with it.” Silence. “I don't _need_ anyone, Tam. I don't need friends. I don't need...relationships. I want them, but I don't _need_ them. I've lived alone long enough that I can do it again.”

Throughout all of this, Debbie hadn't stopped to think about how this debacle has affected not only _their_ relationship, but Lou's relationship with AJ as well. Christ, what a fuck up she is.

' _Don't do it, Deborah_ ,' Debbie warns herself as she grabs her cell phone and starts a thread with one of her heistmates. Once sent, the irony of her message is not lost on her, having started this job trying to push AJ out of the picture, only to now want to bring her closer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is she on her way to fixing things? Or is Debbie about to cause even _more_ trouble?!
> 
> Have I mentioned how amazing you all are? Your comments and feedback are fueling the writing flame. Leave your thoughts below - I love, love, love hearing them.


	18. Chapter 18

Debbie'd never really expected her to show up. The fact that AJ replied to her text in the first place surprised the hell out of her, but Debbie's truly shocked when AJ walks through the front doors of _Copper_ , dressed in a pink and white sundress with dark glasses and black pumps that makes Debbie wonder if she's the only person in the state of California that doesn't feel it necessary to be camera-ready at 10 in the morning. She self-consciously smooths the wrinkles away from the edge of her loose grey t-shirt as AJ finds her among the sea of tables.

Debbie awkwardly half-stands as AJ joins her, unsure what type of greeting is appropriate for their situation. “Thanks for coming.”

“I thought about standing you up,” AJ confesses, sliding her sunglasses up over her face to rest on the top of her head, “but then I figured that was about as petty as making your girlfriend jealous when she's hopelessly in love with you just to spice up your love life.”

Old Debbie Ocean would have found a way to sneak into the back of the cafe and spit in this bitch's coffee. But New Debbie Ocean is trying to be a better person, and so, with a forced smile, she simply responds with, “Touché. Regardless, I'm glad you're here.”

“I'm not here for you. I'm here for Lou. And myself, I suppose, because I am trying to get back in her good graces despite having really not done anything wrong.” AJ leans back a bit in her chair, folding her arms over her chest defensively. “She hasn't really talked to me since this all happened. I know you're gonna ask, so just laying it out there. I've tried at the club but she basically waltzes in and hides up in her office until I leave. The longest conversation we've had is about our supply order and whether I should get Charmin or Cottonelle for the bathroom.”

“I'm sorry.” And it's all Debbie can really think to say in the moment, feeling a bit defeated by the mess she's caused. She's thankful for the waitress who comes and takes their orders in the middle of a very awkward silence, but AJ is sharp, doesn't let her get too comfortable or skirt around the conversation.

“So what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“Right.” Debbie folds her hands in her lap. “I think I have a plan to win Lou back.”

“Because the first plan went so well,” AJ snorts.

 _God_ , her snark is so much like Lou's, and their friendship suddenly makes much more sense. “I've thought this one through a bit more. And even if it fails miserably, there's really no chance for it to end in any heartbreak besides my own.”

“Which you would deserve.”

“Ok, _enough_ ,” Debbie sighs, exasperated. “I get it, ok? I fucked up. Bad. It's what I do. It's what I'm best at. When Lou and I work together, we are a dream, and things always go to plan because she's what keeps it along the right path. But I am a mess on my own. I know that. This time, I'm really just trying to fix things. I don't want to hurt Lou anymore than I already have, and if at the end of the day, she never wants to see me again, I will pack up my shit and move back to New York and neither of you ever have to see me again. But just...” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just give me this _one_ thing, AJ. Please, for Christ's sake.”

They eye each other silently for a few seconds, a gentlewoman's standoff. Then, AJ laughs, quick and low, followed by a slow clap. “That was quite a performance. I almost believed you about the ' _willing to move back to New York_ ' part.” She winks. “Almost.”

Debbie smirks, eyes sparkling. “Was it that obvious? If we're being honest, I'll spend my life on my knees begging if I have to, but I'm not going anywhere.”

“Hmm, if I know Lou as well as I think I do, she might actually enjoy that part about you on your knees.” AJ's stern face softens with a bit of a smirk, and there's a sudden friendliness between them that allows Debbie to breathe easier. The arrival of their coffees also helps, giving them a break before they shift to the hard-hitting questions.

“How did you and Lou meet?” Debbie asks, immediately hiding her face in her coffee cup as she takes a slow sip.

“I was working as a bartender at a place nearby. She'd sauntered in one night looking like a million bucks.”

 _Almost 40 million to be exact_ , Debbie wants to correct.

“She just sat at the bar by herself. Had a million men and women flirting with her and turned every single one of them down. She wasn't like anyone else in that bar. She'd come every weekend and spend hours nursing the same glass of whiskey. Seemed a little out-of-place, lonely.” AJ scratches behind her ear. “Like everyone else in that bar already had, I eventually hit on her and, unsurprisingly, she said no. Nicely, but yeah...I got the old 'swipe left'. That's when I got to learn all about this woman back in New York City.”

Debbie suddenly feels a bit flushed.

“You were all she talked about. Seriously, it was _obnoxious_.” AJ rolls her eyes. “She'd explained you were tying up some loose ends in New York, but would be moving to California soon. ' _Next weekend_ ,' she'd say. And then the next weekend would come and you still weren't here. And then the next. And the next. Honestly, I started to wonder if you even really existed,” she chuckles. “To distract her, I mentioned a space that had opened up recently. A few blocks away. I've always wanted to start up a place of my own, but I didn't have the cash. Hell, I could barely afford my utilities at that point, let alone run a business.” AJ stops for a bit of coffee. “She was ecstatic about the idea and put up the money without a second thought. I couldn't believe it. I should have been more wary of her and her deep pockets, but honestly, she has this way about her that just makes you feel so...”

“Safe,” Debbie finishes.

“Exactly.”

When the conversation stalls, Debbie waits with baited breath for the inevitable question on the tip of AJ's tongue.

“What about you two? How did you both meet?”

And there it is.

“You mean she didn't tell you that part?”

“Nope,” AJ answers, emphasizing the 'p' with a pop of her lips.

Debbie shrugs. “It's not that exciting, really. Met her at a gas station as I was trying to fix a flat tire. She offered to help. I wanted to repay her for her help and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Why do I get the feeling you're completely full of shit again?” AJ asks, squinting her eyes.

Damn, this woman is good.

Debbie leans in, elbows on the table, and lowers her voice. “If you help me pull this off, perhaps I'll tell you the _real_ story one day.” And just like that, the dark, mysterious side of her shifts back to a more public view – cheery, sunny. She sits straight in her chair and smiles. “Now, what are you doing Saturday night?”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

“Well, _you_ look nice.” Debbie sets the magazine she's reading down onto her lap and eyes Lou as she jogs down the stairs in her shiny leather pants. There are at _least_ five chains hanging from her neck that swish with each step, and several gold studs line the length of her earlobe. Stiletto boots are certainly an unexpected touch, but Debbie wouldn't think twice about kneeling before them were Lou to ask.

“Thanks,” Lou says casually as she pops the collar of her electric yellow button-up.

“Going somewhere?” Debbie asks, feigning interest in the pages at her fingertips.

“It's Saturday night. Going out.”

“Where to?”

“Does it matter?” Lou sighs, frustrated.

“Does to me.”

Lou's softens at Debbie's admission. “Heading to a concert with AJ. She won free tickets or something and asked if I wanted to go along with her.”

“So you guys are on good terms again?”

Lou shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” She frowns. “Wait, how do you know we were on bad terms in the first place?”

Debbie backpedals. “Who are you seeing tonight?”

“You ignored my question.”

“Answer mine first.”

“I'm...actually not sure.” Lou grabs her phone from where it's charging in the living room and shoves it into her back pocket. “Sort of a surprise, I guess. She just said rock so...” With her feet squared, hips arched slightly forward and one thumb hooked in her empty belt loop, she waves her hand in front of herself to point out her look.

Debbie moves from the couch and joins Lou where she stands, smiling across from her. Now that they're this close, Debbie can see the details of Lou's necklaces. “I approve of this look,” she compliments, trailing her fingertips along the clear buttons of Lou's shirt.

“Well, that settles it then. I guess I can go since you approve.” There's a playful wit to Lou's words that makes Debbie relax for the first time in a week and half.

“Missing one thing though.”

Lou raises an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Debbie's gone and back in a flash, up and down the stairs in record time. Lou has several inches on her in her tall stilettos, which forces Debbie to rise onto her tiptoes to clasp the gifted gold chain around her neck. “There ya go.” She gently taps Lou's chest where the necklace now dangles. “Obviously it just slipped your mind to wear it.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Lou agrees with a smirk.

“Behave yourself tonight.” Debbie twirls a few strands of Lou's bright blonde hair around her finger.

“Impossible. I make no promises.”

There are so many things Debbie wants to say, yet nothing quite sounds right in her head. The hesitation must clearly be written all over her face, as Lou waits across from her, anticipation in her eyes and posture. “Text me when you get there?”

Lou blinks, expecting something much more profound. “Ok.” She checks the watch at her wrist as an awkward escape. “I gotta go.”

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

A black tank. Bright red jeans. A thin, rose-patterned scarf tied around her neck. Silver hoop earrings. Thick eyeliner and waterproof mascara. Cherry-red lipstick. Knee-high boots.

Regardless of how the night goes, she will certainly be serving _a look_ with her outfit.

Debbie admires herself in the mirror once more for good measure, marveling how she'd managed to change so quickly and still look this damned hot. She smacks her lips and fixes a bit of smudged eyeliner before combing through her hair, trying to give it the volume that a rock and roll concert calls for. When her cell buzzes in her pocket, Debbie checks the notification and reads the series of text messages that have come through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are they going? And _what_ exactly are AJ and Debbie up to? Hmmm...
> 
> As always, your comments make the author smile and inspire more :) Take a moment to leave your thoughts below!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit, hasn't it? :) 
> 
> For those who might not follow me on Tumblr, I went on a little vacation, and returned home with an awful, _awful_ cold that would not quit. Then, the day we came home, I fell down our upstairs staircase and was deliciously black and blue for a bit, so things have been a little crazy! However, we are back in business, and I hope this and the remaining chapters have been worth the wait.
> 
> With that - enjoy!

The reality of her age doesn't hit harder than when Debbie pulls up in front of the concert arena to find an endless crowd of bright-haired twenty-somethings in leggings and boots and flannel, glued to their phones as they parade forward like sheep through the front doors of the lobby. Rock may not exactly be her music of choice, but even _she_ wonders where the leather is, or when the tall hair and spikes and cigarettes had been swapped out for vests and grey cardigans and _vapes_. Nothing pleases Debbie more than the cotton-candy scented plume of vapor that greets her as she makes her way through security.

The opening band – an indie group called Foreword Recoil – is halfway through their set when Debbie finally enters the vendor area of the arena. She'd kill for a good whiskey on the rocks to set the mood, but beer (shitty, _shitty_ beer) seems to be her only option outside of soda and water, and so Debbie acquiesces, settling for a foaming plastic cup of Labatt Blue that tastes marginally better than the piss it smells like. Now equipped with her drink, she checks her ticket for her section and seat number.

Debbie taps near her earlobe with her finger. “I”m here,” she shares, her tone low but her voice loud enough to be heard over the surrounding horde. After the Met, she'd never expected to get much use out of the leftover supplies, but every good heist needs proper gear. For once, the United States Postal Service's overnight shipping hadn't failed her; Nine Ball's quick programming and packaging of said earpieces were certainly helpful additions as well.

Debbie adjusts the volume on the earpiece and listens carefully for AJ's response. There's a shuffle and a crackle, and Lou's voice makes a brief appearance, although Debbie can't exactly decipher what she's said. Then AJ booms over the microscopic speaker, and Debbie disappears into the public bathroom, cupping her ear painfully. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath.

The code word comes in loud and clear, masked in a conversation about the perfect drink for a hangover: Bloody Mary.

Debbie takes out her phone and places a call as planned. A few seconds later, AJ's voice reappears.

“I gotta take this call,” AJ shouts over the music. “Hello??”

“Ready when you are,” Debbie responds.

“What happened?”

“ _You_ happened,” Debbie jokes, enjoying AJ's attempt at a fake conversation. “You with your know-it-all smile and your little cocktail dress, hanging all over Lou with that smug look-”

“Shit, I'll be right there.” A pause. Then, the call ends and Debbie's phone goes dark. “Issue at the club,” AJ explains. “One of the bathrooms flooded or something. Kisha is handling it but I should go.”

“Fuck, let me come with you.” Lou's voice is soft compared to AJ's, the distance away from the microphone the likely culprit, but Debbie still manages to hear her with little trouble.

“No,” Debbie whispers. For some idiotic reason, she hadn't considered Lou offering to go in AJ's place.

“No,” AJ insists. “It's fine, really. Enjoy the concert. I'll go handle it and come back if there's time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rock on, lady.” AJ's mic goes out briefly, then comes back when she's out of the seating area and easier to hear. “Alright, she's all yours, Deb.”

“ _Rock on_? Really?” Debbie snickers.

“Shut up. You really should be nicer to the woman about to-”

“Yeah yeah.”

A group of women eye her as they walk through the bathroom, likely disturbed by the drunk lady talking and laughing to herself in front of the mirror. Debbie pulls the earpiece out, masking it behind a toss of her hair, and slyly shoves it into the pocket of her jeans. A quick sip of her beer gives her the last bit of encouragement she needs, and with that, Debbie finally makes her way to her seat – section 124, seat 6.

As she slides down the row, apologizing to the groups she squeezes in front of, Lou doesn't seem to notice her, but _god_ does Debbie see her, looking absolutely glorious in leather. Her hair is a little more mussed than it was before she left, and even with the haze of stage fog and cigarette smoke clouding around them, the gold chains glisten at Lou's throat and accent the plunging neckline of her blouse, unbuttoned far enough now to show the hint of the black bra beneath it. Lou looks stunning – except _stunning_ doesn't even begin to cover how irresistible she looks. But Debbie somehow manages some self-control, finding her seat beside Lou while sipping innocently from her cup. “Fancy seeing you here,” Debbie greets smoothly.

“I'm sorry?” Lou turns to her. Then recognition washes over her face, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“Gonna catch flies,” Debbie teases, reaching out to run her index finger along Lou's jaw.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where's AJ?” she asks innocently.

“She had to leave. Got a call that there was-” Lou stops, then narrows her eyes. She glares with pursed lips. “There was no emergency, was there Deb?”

“Well, I don't know. You'd have to ask-” The expression on Lou's face is enough to tell her that she's not up for any games. “No, there's no emergency.”

“So you set me up?”

“Sorta. I just...” Debbie sighs, turning in her seat. “I just thought it would be a nice surprise to see someone you love so much. If _I'd_ suggested it, you wouldn't have gone. Not with everything that's happened. I could barely get you to talk to me. And so I asked AJ to help me.”

“Is there anyone around here who doesn't enjoy playing games with me?” Lou asks, but the tone is playful, and her glare turns up into a hint of a smile that puts Debbie at ease. “So you went through all of this trouble and scheming when you could have just asked me to go with you in the first place?”

“Would you have? Would you really?”

“Yes.”

“You are a _liar_ , Lou.”

“It's Stevie fucking Nicks.”

“True,” Debbie concedes with a laugh.

And there it is again, that familiar warmth and comfort that happens every time their eyes meet, every time Lou smiles at her. In front of them, Foreword Recoil takes their bows, the crowd shouting and applauding, but Lou and Debbie remain focused on each other. Lou shifts, their knees touching, fingernails tracing up Debbie's arm to settle at her wrist, and the light sensation at her pulse point makes Debbie head swim. Lou knows, always knows the ways to make her weak with the tiniest gestures, and yet it comes to no surprise to her when Lou's true intentions are shown, reaching forward to take the beer from Debbie's hand. “Well, you could have least gotten me a..” Lou takes a sip. “Why are you drinking this shit?” she laughs, grimacing.

“It was that or Bud Light.”

“I would have chosen thirst instead.”

Still, Lou finishes the last of the beer, then hands the empty cup over to Debbie. “Do you remember when you dragged me to that Backstreet Boys concert in '97?”

“Ok, I didn't _drag_ you,” Debbie clarifies. “If I remember correctly, you seemed to enjoy yourself that night. Even sang along to ' _As Long As You Love Me_ '.”

“I do not recall,” Lou protests with a wink.

“You loved it.”

“I loved _you_.”

Debbie swallows. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.”

“And now?”

And of course, because the universe plots against her, the overhead lights dim and the curtain rises, and Debbie grumbles quietly. The drum beats steadily as the lights around the stage flicker, coming to life one-by-one as each band member finds their place. When the song begins and Stevie Nicks takes center stage among the rest of her bandmates, the crowd leaps to their feet and greets her with thunderous applause. Tiny as she is, she's a commanding presence, and even Debbie finds herself captivated as she begins singing.

They open with _The Chain_ , followed by _You Make Loving Fun_ and _Dreams_. Lou rocks her body back and forth to the beat, occasionally mouthing along with the words. It isn't until _Bleed to Love Her_ that she really starts to relax, one hand in her hair with the other resting in her belt loop. Debbie isn't particularly familiar with it, but the lyrics cut deep, especially when Lou stills and looks over at her, eyes sparkling, begging for Debbie to listen and understand.

“ _And once again she calls to me. Then vanishes in thin air. And how she takes my breath away. Pretending she's not there. Oh I would bleed to love her.”_

“I'm sorry,” Debbie mouths, knowing that as loud as she might try to be, nothing will top the euphoric sounds of Fleetwood Mac's glorious music over the speakers.

Lou nods, a hint of tears in her eyes as the white and blue stagelights flicker in the reflection of them.

“ _I took my love, I took it down,”_ Stevie begins, and once again the crowd goes wild in anticipation, knowing with just those few words what song is ahead. Debbie'd listened to her fair share of 80's and 90's hits in her time with Lou, and while she's hardly a connoisseur of Fleetwood Mac's repertoire, she knows _Landslide_ by heart, its meaning now more poignant than ever as Lou stands beside her with a shaky smile on her face.

The audience sings along, but Debbie keeps quiet, waiting, just _waiting_ for the chorus.

“ _Well I've been afraid of changin'. Cause I've built my life around you.”_

She turns away from the stage and focuses on Lou instead, whose eyes are glued to Stevie in wonder, emotion washed all over face. Debbie scoots closer and laces their fingers together, hands clasped side-by-side. Lou doesn't move or shift her attention as the song continues, but there's a quick hitch of breath that Debbie doesn't miss.

“ _I took my love, I took it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around.”_

It's impossible to resist it any longer. Perhaps it's the emotional pull of the song, or just having Lou comfortably close again, but the moment just feels _right_. Debbie leans in just so and tucks her face against Lou's cheek and neck and kisses gently, finally getting Lou's attention. Then their lips meet, not the tentative kiss they'd shared at the pool, but something stronger this time, more forceful, a mixture of heat and fire and tears and regret, and yet it is absolutely perfect, beyond anything Debbie could have imagined or planned. The music continues, but all Debbie can focus on is Lou's mouth on hers, the little hum against her lips, the whisper of breath hot against her jaw.

_Landslide_ is followed by the much more upbeat _Think About Me,_ and when Lou finally pulls away from their kiss, her hands immediately reach down for Debbie's hips and tug, encouraging her to dance as the rest of the crowd does the same. Grinning, Debbie drapes one arm over Lou's shoulder while the other lazily teases over her front, twisting along the gold chains. They sway and rock together, moving closer and closer until they're practically pressed up against each other, Lou's hand squeezing Debbie's ass as Debbie slips her fingers beneath Lou's blouse.

“ _I believe that you really want me. But it's not easy, just to give in. So let yourself go, and let love begin.”_

When they pull apart at the end of the song, Debbie feels deliciously breathless and dizzy, and a little bit desperate for a cigarette or another shitty beer. As she's about to ask whether Lou wants one for herself, Lou leans in close and offers a much better suggestion. “Want to head home?”

“Are you sure? The show's got at least another hour.”

Lou smiles. “Yeah, Deb. I'm sure.” She bites her lip. “Unless you-”

She shuts Lou up with a kiss, then takes her hand tightly in hers. “Let's go.”

As they make their way through the crowd and to the parking garage, Debbie manages to send a quick text under the guise of finding her car keys. It isn't much, but Debbie hopes AJ understands its intent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, kudo-ed or commented on this story so far :) It means more than I could ever say!
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. What did you think? :) Come over to [my Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/) and say hello - but first, leave a comment below ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been hell. Total hell.
> 
> And yet, I'm so excited for you all to read this :)
> 
> NSFW.

If the ride to the concert arena had been nerve-wracking, the drive home is excruciating. Debbie tries to focus on the road as she winds through the city, but Lou doesn't make it easy for her, occasionally reaching over to dance her fingertips along her arm, or exchanging a teasing glance at a red light. Debbie is rarely impressed by anyone's attempt at flirting with her, but Lou is in a league of her own, practically bringing her to her knees with a raise of an eyebrow.

Not that she's complaining. God, she would _never_. After all of this time, all the back and forth, Debbie would do just about anything Lou asked of her, would take hours and hours of Lou's teasing just to be near her. Play hard to get? Well, maybe a _little_ , but all in good fun, and in the end, if Lou told her to jump, she'd ask how high.

Parked in the driveway with the engine cut, Debbie takes it upon herself to look over this time, admiring Lou as she sits in the passenger's seat. It's dark, but the outdoor garage lights shine through the windshield and catch the string of studs fastened in Lou's ear. She's all shadows and glimmering diamonds, thin cheekbones and blue-grey eyes, almost dangerous in a way Debbie hasn't seen in years, way before the Met heist, way before Claude, early in their youth when they had so much to prove.

Debbie simply wants to _devour_ her.

“Do you wanna go inside, _oooor_?” Lou shifts her hips up enough to pull a ring of keys from her pocket. “My ass is going to go numb sitting here.”

“I'll have you know this baby comes fully equipped with heated seats.”

“Oh, well, in that case.”

They laugh softly together, eyes meeting as it fades into silence. Even with their history and their stubbornness, their masks of confidence, Debbie knows they're stalling, nerves getting the better of them. She busies her hands with the collar of Lou's shirt, her middle and index fingers running along the edge of it until she “accidentally” ghosts against her collarbone, and _that_ certainly gets Lou's attention, who fails miserably at keeping up with her ever-cool and composed facade as her breath catches – quietly, easily missed, but _never_ by Debbie.

“Come on.” Debbie pulls away, somehow managing some self-restraint. When she slips out of the driver's side door, Lou follows suit through the other, walking a few paces ahead with those gloriously long legs to open the front lock. Like the gentlewoman she is, though, she waits for Debbie with a smile, ushering inside with a wave of her hand until they're both over the threshold, Lou twisting effortlessly to kick the door closed before returning to face where Debbie stands in the entryway.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is heavy in the air, and while Debbie's dead-set on making Lou her meal by the end of the night, she's also relieved AJ's managed to pull it off with so little time. When Lou cocks her head, questioning wordlessly, Debbie simply disappears down the hall to the kitchen. The sound of Lou's boots on the hardwood signals she isn't far behind, and Debbie bites her lower lip to hold back the smile, grateful that, for the first time since moving to California, things are _actually_ going to plan.

“Crème brûlée?” Lou gently taps the side of one of the ramekins with her fingernail.

Debbie grins. “Well, I knew you'd be going out for dinner, but figured I'd bring the dessert.”

Digging a spoon out from the utensil drawer, Lou takes a small, tentative bite. “Love you, honey, but there's no way in _hell_ you made these.” A larger bite follows the first when she's certain it's edible.

“You have your business partner to thank for that one.” Debbie dips into her own dessert.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed.”

As Debbie watches her, Lou eats slowly, taking the time to run her tongue purposefully along each side of her spoon before dipping it back in for another mouthful. She's playing games – teasing, flirty ones – and Debbie's not immune to them. It's distracting – _she's_ distracting – so much so that Debbie barely has time to anticipate Lou's next move before she's a few steps closer with a spoonful of crème, guiding it forward until it drips down the front of her black tank.

“Hey!” Debbie scowls. “I happen to like this shirt, thank you very much.”

“Hmm. Should get it off of you before the stain sets in.”

 _There's_ the Lou she's missed. They practically race each other up the staircase, slightly breathless as they reach the top. Debbie turns, faces where Lou's stopped at the last step, admiring with that dreamy look on her face – bright eyes, slightly pink cheeks, lower lip tucked between her teeth.

“You gonna stand there all day?” Debbie asks with a subtle pop of her hip.

Lou doesn't say much in response, just shakes her head and laughs quietly to herself. Just a bit ahead, Debbie senses Lou following her now – as she's always done, and as Debbie hopes she always will. Tonight's job is different as they move together into the bedroom – something to be freely given, not stolen. Once inside, in the darkness, Debbie kisses her – slow, purposeful, like dipping her feet into icy waters, testing to brace for what's ahead.

For awhile, Lou waits like a predator watching its prey, back against the door as Debbie presses into her. She kisses back but lets Debbie take the lead, lazily carding her fingers through the length of wavy brown hair as she does, occasionally dipping down further to stroke the bare skin at Debbie's arm. It isn't until a few purposefully placed kisses against the pulse at her neck that something shifts, Lou's need for control suddenly quite strong as she leads Debbie over to the bed with the weight of her body. When they reach the edge, the back of Debbie's knees pressing against the side of the mattress, Lou lowers her voice and commands with a single word. “Turn.”

Debbie hates taking orders. But there's no resistance when it comes to Lou, and so she spins to face the bed, closing her eyes as Lou's hands settle at her waist, dipping beneath the cotton fabric of her tank top. Lou's fingertips are warm against her as they slide up the length of her body to pull the shirt gently over her head. It's hot as hell in the California summer, yet still Debbie shivers, goosebumps forming where Lou touches again, starting at the base of her neck and shoulders. As she continues, Lou's fingers dance across Debbie's stomach, stopping just below her belly button where a thick piece of leather sits fastened in the belt loop of her bright red jeans. “Take this off,” Lou hums against the back of her neck.

With swift fingers – quick and strong from years of heists – Debbie removes her belt and tosses it onto the bed. As she does so, Lou walks over to the bedside table, finally noticing the little surprise waiting for her. “This AJ's doing too?” Lou asks sarcastically, pointing beside her.

Debbie glances over her shoulder. “That one's all me, baby.”

Even though she's expecting it, the pop of the champagne bottle still causes her to jump as the cork flies across the room. She has half a mind to grab her own glass, shift the weight of control, but for once in her life, Debbie chooses to listen to Lou's orders instead, keeping still with her back turned.

A moment later, Lou returns to her with one glass in hand, offering a sip. “Want a taste?” she offers, and god, the sound of her voice, low and dripping with intent, makes every inch of Debbie's body practically burn.

Without a word, Debbie tilts her head back and parts her lips, waiting. Lou angles the glass downward and lets the tiniest bit of gold liquid fall from the edge of it onto Debbie's tongue. When a bead of champagne trickles down her jaw and along the length of her neck, Lou buries her face there and licks slowly, taking her time to leave a dark love-bite there. It's something she's quite fond of, in fact – something Debbie learns quickly as Lou downs the rest of the glass of champagne and tosses it aside, focusing her efforts this time at the back of Debbie's neck, starting behind her ear to her shoulder blades until she instructs Debbie to bend, palms flat on the comforter, to kiss down the line of her spine.

It should hardly surprise her that Lou's a horrible tease, will string her along until she's practically begging. She deserves everything she gets, but that doesn't stop Debbie from urging Lou on, arching her back as she unzips the front of her jeans and leads Lou's hand there.

“Eager much?” Lou chuckles, her breath hot at the shell of Debbie's ear.

All Debbie manages is a broken “perhaps” before Lou's hand slips inside her jeans and the black lace at her waist.

“God, Deb,” Lou breathes. “You feel so good.”

And if Debbie's managed to have any resolve up until now, it's completely shattered by Lou's words. She's fantasized about it before – what Lou might say, the sounds she'd make, the way she'd touch her – but it's nothing like the real thing, the feeling of Lou's mouth and tongue, the way she effortlessly turns her again to peel the tight jeans from her legs, only to push her back onto the bed a moment later. She undresses herself slowly, a show of sorts, until she crawls on all fours to press their bodies together, a brief moment of skin-on-skin contact until she settles between Debbie's thighs. Debbie forces herself to keep her eyes open at the sight, to retain eye-contact for as long as she can possibly stand it.

Like a prayer, Lou's name falls from her lips, over and over as Lou's fingers dip and press, touching right _there_ , as though she knows just how Debbie wants it, how Debbie likes it, how Debbie _needs_ it. But of _course_ Lou knows, has learned and experienced in her own way in all their time together. It should come as no surprise, and yet, Debbie writhes and gasps and revels, wondering why the hell it had taken her so _long_ to finally make the right choice.

“Not yet,” Lou warns, playful yet demanding as she senses Debbie's close. Grey-blue eyes sparkle mischievously as she moves up from between Debbie's thighs to kiss her on the mouth. It's hot and wet and obscene, enough to make Debbie come right there, and yet she plays by Lou's rules, waiting for permission. When she whimpers at the loss of Lou's tongue, her partner makes up for it in other ways – with one finger, then two.

It's barely coherent, but Debbie somehow manages a strangled ' _harder_ ' as Lou rocks against her, finding a rhythm once again.

With one hand tangled in the mess of blonde hair at the top of Lou's head and the other around the layered gold necklaces still dangling from her neck - a feeble attempt at steadying herself - Debbie finally breaks, mouth open but silent, eyes clenched tight with a trace of tears at the corner of them. The intensity of it all is almost blinding, and unable to do much of anything else, Debbie holds on for dear life, nails digging into the pale skin at Lou's shoulder blades, riding the wave as she crests and falls with the deafening sound of Lou's ' _I love you_ ' echoing in her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. They are keeping me going amongst the crazy that is work right now! Thank you, thank you, thank you!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An oh-so-short update to get back into the swing of things. As this is my first time writing in quite awhile, I figured I would share this little snippet as I slowly immerse myself in this world again. 
> 
> One more chapter left. I can't believe it!
> 
> Enjoy!

After decades of scheming and planning and heisting together, it should come as no surprise to Debbie that she knows Lou like the back of her hand, something that has always been there with a simple flick of a wrist. Her lips and fingertips gravitate to the perfect places without a bit of hesitation or experimentation, Debbie's tongue circling and hands caressing just as Lou wants – unspoken, yet the gasps and whimpers and the occasional obscenities affirm in their own way.

Forearm. Shoulder blade. Thigh. Debbie takes her time at each spot, tracing the black and blue ink of Lou's tattoos. She'd warned against them, worried it would make her easy to identify with their line of work, but stubborn, independent Lou had her own plans, one tattoo turning to two, then three, always self-designed and easy to hide. There are stories to each of them, but the one [around her forearm](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aa9a589891b2793508ab31671f68077f/tumblr_pc0zioCt1u1ue35wzo1_400.jpg) is new to Debbie, larger than the others, darker and harder to cover, the likely result of Lou feeling at ease in her club-running life.

“2010.”

Debbie sits up, head cocked.

Lou points to the tattoo at her arm. “Happened sometime in 2010 after a few bartending classes. Wanted to try something new. I ended up becoming more interested in the chemistry of it all and I couldn't get the image of it out of my head. After you'd gone to jail, I'd felt as if I was floating from place to place, job to job. A haze. Out of body experience. But this just felt...different. Kept me grounded, like I was home. Newfound permanence. And what's more permanent than a little ink?”

Debbie blinks. “Wow, with that pillow talk, it's no _wonder_ you have girls just throwing themselves at you.”

Lou playfully pinches Debbie's side. “I saw you looking.”

“Nah, I was looking at your tits.”

Lou arches her back and laughs. “And?”

With a dip of her head, Debbie swirls her tongue around one nipple, then gently grazes her teeth along the other. There's a pleasant sting at her scalp where Lou's fingers thread through her hair and tug _just a bit_ , and for some strange reason, it makes her recall a conversation not so long ago with Daphne regarding a _certain woman's_ proclivities. As her mouth teases, her hand drags along the length of Lou's torso and hip, eventually settling between the mattress and the curve of Lou's bare behind. “Daphne once told me she thought-”

“I am naked and at your mercy, and you're thinking about Daphne.” Lou fakes a pout. “You are really the charmer, Deb.”

“She bet me that you were into kinky shit. Hair pulling, spanking.”

“Is that so?” Lou sits up against the bedframe.

Debbie simply shrugs, but the grin across her face says it all.

“How much did she bet?”

“It wasn't _really_ a bet, it was more of an assumption.”

“Well that's good.”

“Good?”

“Because if you'd have taken the bet, you _probably_ would have lost. And Debbie Ocean doesn't play to lose, right?”

Years of cons have their perks, particularly the ability to stay calm and collected at the most difficult of times. And it is _incredibly_ difficult for Debbie not to practically keel over when Lou turns onto her stomach, long legs swinging playfully back and forth as she looks over with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, beckoning before she even says a word.

“Probably, or certainly?” Debbie asks, cheeks hot.

Lou props her head up, chin resting against the palm of her hand, and smiles. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you all still there? Enjoying this, I hope? Comments make the author smile! Thank you to all who have read, and all who continue to read despite my keeping you waiting far too long :)


	22. Chapter 22

Bliss. It's a disgusting cliché, but the only real way to truly describe how she feels with Lou by her side. Suddenly, routine is no longer a four letter word she'll do everything in her power to avoid, and even the simplest venture together to the grocery store is monumental because Lou is _there_ , right by her side, just the way she's always meant to be.

And she certainly isn't _bored_. That would be absurd. How could she possibly be with everything she's ever wanted in life? There's millions in the bank and a waterside mansion with expensive cars in the driveway and the hottest piece of ass on the planet in her bed at night, who strokes her hair and kisses her neck and whispers her name as she comes, the chorus of a song Debbie doesn't think she'll ever get used to, will certainly never grow tired of.

She loves Lou with every fiber of her being. That's indisputable.

But four months, two weeks and five days into their relationship, Debbie Ocean is restless, desperate for a monumental change.

And it scares the _shit_ out of her.

The only thing that terrifies her more is that Lou _knows_. Or at least, Lou _thinks_ she does. She never says anything, of course, but there's something about the shift in Lou's body language as of late, the way she holds on just a little tighter, kisses her just a little longer as though it will be the last time she'll have the chance to.

So Debbie does the only thing she's ever really been good at – concocts a plan. Unlike last time, a burner credit card and a few hours to herself while Lou is at work is all she needs to pull it off.

And at four months, two weeks and five days, she begins to put her next plan into action.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It's a quarter after seven when Lou arrives home. Debbie greets her like the quintessential housewife, dressed in a tight, black cocktail dress with a pair of modest diamond hoop earrings, a matching silver bracelet and charcoal pumps that scream “fuck me”. They've never failed her, yet Lou looks less than pleased as she walks through the door, tossing her coat and bag onto the floor and barely offering Debbie more than a quick peck on the cheek before she sulks over to the kitchen and grabs their bottle of whiskey.

“Rough day?”

Lou simply sighs in response before taking a swig.

“Well, why don't you go upstairs and get changed and we can talk about it over dinner?”

The suggestion barely elicits a response at first. Lou busies herself with the mail she's brought inside, practically ignoring Debbie when she slides up beside her.

“Lou. Dinner. Me. You. Go upstairs and we can-”

“I'm not really feeling it tonight, Deb, ok?” Lou pinches the bridge of her nose before running her fingers through her hair. It's below shoulder-length now, having grown it out for the last few months, and a dramatic mix of platinum blonde in color with a hint of chestnut at the roots. It makes Lou look a little older, more refined, and even in her sour mood, Debbie still has the urge to run her fingers through it.

“I'd _really_ like to go out tonight, ok?” Debbie pleads, gently prying the bottle away from Lou's hands. “I promise I won't make it a late night. Can we just-”

“If you're going to break up with me, I'd rather you just do it here, ok?”

Suddenly unsteady on her feet, Debbie sets the whiskey down and stumbles backward, grasping for the corner of the counter in an effort to steady herself. “Break up with you?”

“I've been through this before, Deb. I know the signs. I know the restlessness. The searching for something new. The secret plans that don't involve me. I may not be twenty-something anymore but I am certainly not senile.” Despite her feeble attempts, Lou looks absolutely _wrecked_ , her jaw – usually so set, so strong and defined – shaking as she speaks. Wet mascara and eyeliner only accent the dark circles under her eyes, and Debbie finally recognizes just how _tired_ her partner looks.

“Fuck, Lou, you've got it all wrong.” She reaches for her, and while Lou doesn't exactly pull away, there is a limpness in her body language that is painfully uncharacteristic of her, her wrists lank as Debbie clasps her hands close to her chest. “I wasn't asking you to dinner to break up with you. I was going to ask you to _marry_ me.”

Lou tenses. Even with just their hands together, Debbie can feel it in every inch of Lou's body, can sense how close to the brink of completely losing it Lou is, and looking back, can she really blame her? Why on Earth would she ever want to marry someone who has betrayed her so many times, who finally came back to her only to grow restless in a few months' time? “I can't breathe,” Lou gasps, tearing her hands away from Debbie's to clutch at her chest and throat before she stumbles out of the room entirely.

Somewhere in the fray, Debbie loses her heels, kicking them aside mindlessly as she tries to keep up with Lou, who runs like a bat out of hell down their porch and onto the nearby beach. The sand and the tide that tickle across her toes are painfully frigid, but nothing makes her blood run cold like the sight of Lou knee deep in the water, hair blowing in all directions as crisp November wind catches it just right and plasters it across tear-stained cheeks. Five feet, nine-inches never looked so small as Lou hunches over – arms crossed, head bowed, eyes closed.

“Talk to me, Lou!” Debbie shouts over the current. “Please.”

“I'm scared, Deb,” she offers meekly, staring down at her toes. “Because this...marrying you...you can't possibly know how badly I've wanted it. And every time I think we're there, every time we are happy together and things are going well, you turn around and leave. You're a selfish bitch and you leave.”

Even though it's the truth, Christ does it hurt. Debbie feels as though Lou's punched the air right out of her lungs.

“You're going to ask me to marry you and I'm going to say yes. And I'm going to plan. I'm going to buy that dress. I'm going to book the venue. I'm going to plan a honeymoon and write my vows and everything is going to be perfect, and then you're going to leave. It's going to be too boring for you, and you're going to leave.”

“You're right.”

Lou turns, the first to make eye contact. “What?”

“You're right. I'm a selfish bitch who leaves.”

“Deb...”

“No, I can take it. I deserve it. But you know what, Lou? I think you're hiding a completely different fear. You're afraid of opening up to me. You're afraid that this time, I might _not_ leave. That I won't give you the opportunity to pack up and start over. You'll be in it for the long haul. You won't be able to hide your bad days, your mood swings and your morning breath and those weekends when you can barely get out of bed and you wear the same pajamas for three days straight. You're afraid that I'll see you broken but we're all fucking _broken_ , Lou. Your fragment fits my fragment or some other poetic bullshit and I can't imagine not having you by my side for the rest of my life. I've done it. I've been there. And look where it got me.”

Through her tears, Lou manages a wet hiccup of a laugh. “Fragments? Really? That's the best you can come up with?”

Debbie rolls her eyes. “Forgive me. I didn't exactly expect to be knee deep in ice cold water professing my love to you tonight, _darling_.”

Lou reaches out for her, entwines their fingers as she pulls Debbie close to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Debbie watches their wavy, moonlit reflection as it rocks with the rhythm of the water until Lou's mouth is on hers, not the peck from before or even a moment of slow tenderness but a kiss of desperation, an “I do” written in teeth and tongue and uneven breath. “I'm so sorry,” she whispers against Debbie's lips. “God Deb, I'm just so-”

“Shhhh,” Debbie soothes, moving one hand to stroke along the back of Lou's neck – calming, soothing. With the other, she reaches down the front of her dress to where she's kept the diamond ring all day, too nervous to let it out of her sight for even a second. A princess cut with a string of smaller diamonds surrounding it, it glides along Lou's finger with ease and settles perfectly below her knuckle. “Making an honest woman out of Louise Miller. Who would have thought?”

“You know it's a yes,” Lou confesses. “It's never been anything but yes.”

“We leave for the Bahamas in three days,” Debbie explains. “I've got it all planned out. I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Lou pulls back enough to make eye contact once more. “Are you even allowed to leave the country?”

“You know I live for the thrill.”

“Are you telling me we have to plan a job just to go on our honeymoon?”

Debbie grins. “Would it _really_ be our wedding if we weren't trying to con someone?”

Lou shakes her head and snorts with pursed lips. “I'll work on the fake IDs? Shift some funds offshore?”

With Lou's face cradled in her hands, Debbie leans in and teases with a featherlight kiss. “Oh baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, people! We have reached the end of the story of these two lovebirds. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you all have loved reading this as much as I have loved writing it. If you're still along for this ride, please leave a little comment below. It would mean more than I can say.
> 
> Awhile back, when the movie first came out, I was given an excellent "Proposal" movie-based prompt that may be my next Heist Wives multichapter. Would you all be interested in reading? Or perhaps a continuation of this story that revolves around their wedding plans? Holler with your thoughts!
> 
> Once again, I am so so so appreciative of every single person who has read this story. I am so proud to have finally brought this piece to an end, and I hope I've done our ladies justice. If so inclined, [come say hi over on Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/) too!
> 
> Until next time.


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